The Writer's Club
by chriscclfer
Summary: As Riley learns more and more about this boy in charge of the newspaper, Carson Phillips, she becomes more and more interested-and in love with- him. Read to discover just what happens to these two in this novel.
1. Author's Note

Hey! My name is Riley, and I enjoy writing really lame self-ships. But, since the only person reading this is the cutest person ever (yes, you, Jessica), I'm gonna stop talking about myself and talk about this novel.

It's over 48000+. I tried to write a 50,000 word novel in one month, thanks to a magical thing called NaNoWriMo. Turns out, I forget about it for half the month. The 17th rolls around, and I get an email saying, 'WriMo's! Hope you're succeeding on your novel.' My brain instantly lapses into "OH CRAP OH CRAP OH FRIGGIN' CRAP." I SCRAMBLED TO FINISH THIS. ITS NOT EVEN 50,000 WORDS BUT I DON'T CARE.

Enjoy!

Also, for your enjoyment, I have playlists of each of the songs in my novel linked below, and when they show up in the novel, I'll put a little thing signed -A/N so that you know when you should listen to it or switch to the next one! Have fun, I love the music a lot.

If you want to listen to the playlists, you'll have to go to www.8tracks.c o m, then paste the rest of the url after it. Like, /riley-tishma/whatisthename. Don't actually paste that though, it's not a playlist. Anyways!... (p.s. be smart and remove the spaces in com :3)

Playlists, in order of appearance:  
1. The Mix CD: /riley-tishma/the-mix-cd  
2. Us: /riley-tishma/us  
3. The Pokeball and Coffeeshop Jessica's Setlist: /riley-tishma/the-pokeball-coffeeshop-jessica-s-setlist  
4. New York: /riley-tishma/new-york


	2. Chapter 1

I allowed myself to take a quick, shuddering breath before stepping into the glass doors. 'Welcome Incoming Students of the School Year of 2013!' blared in front of me on a poorly made banner across the front of the office foyer. A few people milled in through the foyer next to me, and I followed them, finding my advisor to receive my locker number. I felt so nervous that I could hardly stand. I nearly got trampled over by a few of the seniors who didn't see my face shyly tucked into my locker.

I gathered my books, and started back down the hall, happy to find a board covered with signs. One flyer, on yellow paper, bore a typewriter with the words "The Writers Club! The WRITE club for you!" followed by a few blurbs of location. I watched it for a minute, memorizing 'Journalism Classroom, E-6, and 3:00 to 5:00. Any writer is welcome.'

I then headed to first period at the bell, allowing myself a chance to breathe when I got to my desk. The teacher eyed me, and I put my head down, averting my gaze as I pulled out my textbook and binder. The class continued and nothing remotely eventful happened… until lunch.

At lunch, I got my food and sat at one of the long, boring gray tables, seated somewhat secluded from everyone else. Everyone was talking to old friends, and I was as new as could be, having gotten a lunch hour with mostly seniors and juniors. Suddenly, I heard a loud voice yelling, followed by a comeback by another voice.

A group milled around the people yelling, adding to the noise by an increased amount of chatter and yells of 'Fight! Fight! Fight!' The uproar was deafening to say the least. As I watched the people yelling and screaming at each other, the sound of flesh hitting flesh hit my ears. It was then that I realized that a fight had certainly broken out. The sounds of more fists and fighting continued to sound as blood started peppering the floor.

I looked for a long time until the bell dismissed us. I was the only one to leave, as everyone else would rather be tardy and see this random fight than to go to class. Now that I think about it, I don't blame them.

Near the end of the day I heard the news about the two who had fought. They were suspended until October, which was nearly five weeks from now. Everyone poured into class about fifteen minutes after the bell, where my Geometry teacher was taking a devoted nap waiting for the rest of the class while I took the notes she left on the board. Needless to say, I waited for the rest of the period for them to be done, and the bell rang.

My last two periods faded past me, only giving me an English paper and a review of my History notes over Sparta. I packed up the remains of my homework and slung my backpack on my shoulder. I sent a quick text to my mother.

_**To Mom 3:02 PM**_

**Gonna try the writer's club. Ends at 5. I'll either text you if I get a ride or if you need to get me.**

A few moments later, she sent a response.

_**From Mom 3:03 PM**_

**Ok. Let me know. Love u. Enjoy ur club.**

I sent back a simple smiley face before searching for E-6. It was the senior hallway, but as far as I'd heard, no one ever goes to the journalism classroom anymore since the old seniors left. So it was an assumption that there was either a sophomore or junior as the president. Sure, I had been a freshman last year, so I did know what was going on to a degree, but I had never seen the Writers Club being advertised, otherwise I would have joined.

I found E-6, and noted the thick paper over the small window of the door. I was tempted to knock, but then I thought better of it, and leaned to grab the door handle. With a twist, I pulled it open, and shyly stuck my head inside.

A slim boy wearing all blue and glasses was immersed in typing on his laptop, and did not look up before responding, "Malerie?"

I look for a minute, and then said, "I'm not Malerie…."

His eyes bugged for a moment, and then he looked up, standing quickly, "Oh! You'd like to join the writers club?"

I gave him a slow nod, "Otherwise I wouldnt have come, right?"

His glare continued for a moment, then his face softened, "True. What exactly do you write?"

"A lot of things…. Short stories, analyses, research papers, interviews, articles… I could go on."

"Wow! Well rounded, then. We can use some varied writers," he says with a small smile.

"Well then I guess I'm the one to pick," I say shyly, offering my hand.

"Carson. Carson Phillips," he says, taking it. An odd spark fluttered between our hands when we took hands, and jumped between our fingertips until he let go completely.

I nod, and start towards the door, before he stops me, "Whoa whoa whoa. We still have about three hours until writers club is over…."

I give him another slow look before nodding, "Right…right, yeah. Am I the only one?"

Carson nodded, "Yep. Malerie transferred to another school that'll help her learn better. I do miss her sometimes. I thought maybe she'd come back because no one else joins."

I look at him sadly, "That sucks, Carson. I'm sorry."

He shrugs, "No big deal. I never did catch your name though, mystery girl."

I tried to laugh, but ended up just making an awkward squeaking noise through my nose. He looked at me funnily for a moment, until I covered it by sneezing. I finally mumbled out my name, and he watched me as I sat down in one of the desks, neatly setting my books on the desk and my bag on the floor.

Suddenly his laughter filled the room, "Are you serious? It's after hours. You can sit on the desks for all I care!"

I looked at him, and, judging by his face, seemed to make an expression of pure and utter horror, as if sitting on desks would cause me to be arrested for a felony. He chuckled again, "Seriously. You can relax, Riley. This room is pretty much the only one who doesn't give a shit."

I actually snorted when he said this, and he laughed again before sitting himself on my desk, nudging the books over with his knees. He smiles down at me, "Do you have any samples of your writing?"

I nodded quickly before glancing to my folders in my backpack, rummaging, and offering him a sheet where I had written a metaphorical story. He takes it from me slowly, pushing up his glasses onto the bridge of his nose as he read. I watched Carson read for a long time, and was worried he wouldn't like my writing and eject me on the spot.

After finishing, he looked up from the paper, and said, "This is…" then he trailed off.

I leant down to start packing again when he said, "Whoa there. I was going to say that it's actually… really amazing. I haven't seen writing like this here in Clover since…well… since myself!"

I gave him a weak smile, and he smiled back, handing me the paper back again.

"So you write short stories, correct?"

I nodded.

"And your short stories are good from what I've seen. You said you also wrote analyses, research papers, interviews, articles, amongst other things, correct again?"

I gave him another nod.

"God, I love when I find someone as well rounded as you are. It's actually rare. The last one I met was a senior last year. She would always contribute a different column each issue of the Chronicle. It was truly amazing."

I looked at him for a minute, "Does the Writing Club take care of the Chronicle too?"

His face falters. It seemed as though he never really thought of that. "Actually, I'm not really sure what the Writer's Club does anymore. I mean, there is a sort of…err…class for newspaper writing, the journalism class, but they don't contribute much. Maybe a few excerpts from a sports game or a recent event, but nothing that can make a full paper. The journalism class used to write the Chronicle at least, but with four members, two of which don't want to be there and another who's trying too hard, and I, it doesn't really write a paper. All last year I wrote the paper by myself, using the tiny excerpt from the one who tried too hard. That was Malerie, by the way."

I nodded along to his story, letting him talk and just enjoying listening to him talk about things he loved and missed. It was sort of odd though. We connected in a way that old friends would. But I had never met Carson until now. Hell, I hadn't seen him in the halls, either. He just… appeared, per se.

"So… I guess you and I are in charge of the Chronicle now. I'm not sure what else to do with it at this point. Since you're such an eager writer, I hope you'll want to help with the newspaper, at least. Right?"

I nodded excitedly, "Of course! Being assistant to the editor of the CHS Chronicle? That's such an honor!"

His cheeks tinged pink a bit, "You're sweet. It's nothing like working at a real paper, really." I smiled again and he smiled even wider, actually letting his teeth show this time. This made me smile wider still.

Suddenly, the time dawned on me. 4:56 p.m. It was nearly five, which meant the club would be ending soon. Was I really there for two hours? It felt like ten minutes at the most. Carson noticed me looking behind him at the clock, and turned. He clucked his tongue, "Damn. It's five. That means you have to go, right?"

I sighed, "Yes. I really don't want to though."

"Well hey, it's Friday, isn't it?" he asks.

I gave him a nod, and said, "Yes…."

"That means you and I could work on the Chronicle at my house. If you want to, at least," he suggests.

"I'd need to ask my mom," I say softly.

He nods and smiles, "That's fine. Give her a ring. I can wait."

I pull out my phone carefully and dial her number, putting the receiver to my ear. It rings…and rings…and rings…and ri- *click*.

"Hi mommy," I say into the phone. Carson cracks a smile at my usage of mommy. I glare.

I hear back, "Hi honey. Do you need me to come get you?"

"No, no, actually, it went really well today. I was asked if I could go help the editor with the newspaper at his house….so…."

"Oh! I'm so happy to hear you're making friends. You really haven't had any since Lydia transferred."

"Can we not talk about that?" I said.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. So you're going to a boy's house to work on the newspaper, right?"

"Yes, mom."

"Do you need me to get you?"

I pulled the phone from my ear and ask, "Hey, will my mom need to get me?"

"No, I can take you home," Carson replied.

"Okay," I say, then put the receiver back to my ear, "He said he can take me home."

"Okay. Be home at a reasonable hour. Have fun writing too…I know you will though. Love you."

"Love you too, mom," I said back, and hung up. "She said it was okay."

"Good! Good. I guess we'll head over then," he said with a smile.

"Okay."

* * *

When we got to the Phillips household, I smiled. The little house seemed like a runt in comparison to the large estates around it. I wondered if they just stuck a bungalow in the middle of the bunch and called it a neighborhood or if the other houses had been severely remodeled. He reached into his bag to pull out his keys, and quickly unlocked the door to the house, shoving his shoulder to open it with a mumble of, "The paint still sticks to the doorframe."

I follow behind him silently, scared to touch anything, when he leads me through the living room to the stairs. He yells, "Mom! I'm home!"

A lump stirred on the couch and I jumped. He patted my shoulder, "Don't worry. Just my mom." I inspected the living room. The beginning theme to a rerun of Law and Order was running on the television, and a graveyard of wine and prescription bottles was scattered on their coffee table. I noticed a blue dish on the corner of the table where a half-eaten and moldy sandwich sat.

"Maybe you should be quieter. It looks like she's trying to sleep," I say softly, then nod my head to the sandwich, "And maybe you'd want to take care of that. It'll smell after a few days."

His eyes changed from the soft ones I'd seen when I had first walked in to a new emotion. He looked angry. Furious, in fact. I backed up a bit, putting my hands up in surrender, and he opens his mouth to speak, "You know what? Maybe you should…," but his voice faltered. Then his eyes conveyed another emotion. They seemed to be filled with fear…with regret…with worry. What he was worried about, fearing of, or regretting, I wasn't sure. Without a word, he walks around the sofa and picks up the plate, walking into the kitchen, and he throws it away.

Carson's voice was now barely above a whisper, "It's this way upstairs. Follow me."

I followed him silently. As we went up the stairs and into his room, which was painted a shade of blue, my mind wandered. Why did Carson look so worried before? What was worrying him? Was I the one that was worrying him? Why was I worrying him? Did he maybe not want me here after all? My thoughts were cut short by him speaking, "Here we are. The only sanity in this hellhole."

I was surprised by this. Maybe there was more to Carson than I was letting on. There was definitely some sort of dark in his past, but I knew better than to ask him. I was, however, going to ask him about the worry from earlier.

"H-hey, Carson?" I asked.

"Yeah?" he replies, opening his laptop and turning it on.

"Why did you look so panicked downstairs? You looked like you'd seen a ghost…."

I could see his eyes widen, and he blinked a few times to straighten his expression again, before speaking, "I…I don't know what you're talking about." I knew he did though. No person would act that way if he didn't.

"I know you know what I'm talking about, Carson."

He turns in his chair to face me again, where I was standing in the middle of the room, "Please…just give me some time to think about it? I'll tell you some time, just….just not now."

I nodded understandingly, and let him walk around and do different things that he does before writing, like taking off his shoes and pacing for ideas and the like. I took this time to look around his room.

The paint was a light airy blue, which reminded me of his clothes. Around the room were abundances of bookshelves filled with different books, ranging from cultural studies to everyday fiction novels. Among these books were gaps where different knick-knacks were placed. I noticed a picture of Carson, his mother, and a man who looked somewhat similar to Carson. I wondered if that was his father. In the corner, where Carson was seated, there was a desk with various notes, his laptop, and a few things taped on the wall, varying from notes reminding himself not to murder his journalism classmates to various interesting words, such as that anopisthography was the practice of writing on one side of the paper. In the middle of this mess, between bookshelves and clothes scattered on the floor, was a large oak-framed bed, with a pale blue down comforter, crisp white sheets, and fluffy white pillows. On a small bedside table, there was a well-worn thesaurus with the corners of the pages feathering and soft from age.

Suddenly he burst out, "We should probably start writing."

I just nodded and he sat on the floor, allowing me to sit too.

"So what do you want your article to be about?"

I shrugged, "I don't really care. Whatever you want."

"You really should write about something you like to write about…. I mostly write journalism pieces because I like journalism," Carson replies.

I shrug again, "Maybe a description? Or a poem?"

"I can make a poetry or descriptive writing section if you want to write that," he says with a smile.

"Okay. I'll write a description then," I say with finality.

"Okay! I'll probably write an article about the fight at lunch today. That would be good, wouldn't it?" he asks.

I just nod, looking for something to write with, finally settling with my notebook and a pen I found on the floor. He didn't seem to mind that I took the pen, so I used it. My scribbling first started with ideas of what I could describe. Maybe the color blue? Or perhaps I could describe the way his eyes changed like that. It would make for an interesting read…or maybe I'm just thinking funny.

I settled for describing Carson's eyes. He decided to take his laptop to the floor and write down on the floor where I was. It was a silence as we both worked, but not an uncomfortable one. We were both at peace doing something we loved to do.

I believe my article, after I had spell and grammar checked it, was something like this:

_The abrupt way someone's face changes when their emotions change is usually evident. However, the emotions displayed in their eyes offer much more emotion…more passion…more of a description of who they are. Their eyes are a window to their soul. They show what exactly runs through their mind. Maybe the way their eyes dilate when they see someone they think is breathtakingly beautiful. Perhaps the way that their eyes seem to have a fog over them when they are sad and thus portraying what they feel._

_His eyes were those of the ocean, a murky blue with seaweed of green scattered within. When his eyes are fogged over, a mist over the murky shores of his pupil, the emotions pool over, like the ocean waves of the iris, and it's evident he's become distraught. When those glasz eyes fill with a grey film, the fury in his eyes has come full-circle, and he knows that he has to hold his tongue. When his eyes finally settle into a simple shade of blue, flecks of gold and hints of green throughout, he is content._

After I had written this, he looked over at me, and I noticed something else in his eyes. This time, they had followed a description I had mentioned, but hadn't delved into just his eyes in particular. The pupils, like silhouetted islands in the blue ocean, were dilated. They were large, increased drastically from what they were. As the pupils got smaller, he looked down again, his eyes fading back to a grey. Then, when he felt me looking at him, he looked back up. His eyes dilated once more, and flecks of gold became evident around the islands. A swoop fell deep in my stomach, and I felt a new form of butterflies that were fluttering angrily around in my tummy.

He looked back down, a small smile placed on his lips, the corners of his mouth pulled up, seemingly by invisible hooks. I smiled too, looking down, and decided to add a few sentences to my description.

_When he is in love, the islands floating in the blue-green ocean of his eyes dilate, expanding into round, wide silhouettes. His eyes fleck gold and green in the lapping waves of his eyes, and they portray a full passion and attraction to those whom he is looking at. His eyes have rarely, if ever, done this, and after his eyes dilate like so, he looks away, unsure, and smiles, knowing that he's lucky._

After this, I spoke, "I've written my description."

"And I've written a draft of mine. I still need some interviews and what-have-you, but it shouldn't take long. Can I read yours?" he asks.

Suddenly I felt embarrassed of my work. I just looked over at it, "It's a little messy. You probably can't read it."

He smiles again, chuckling, and then reaches over me to where I'd set the notebook. When his arm touched mine, I felt a spark. That made my mind flurry, and I didn't care what he said anymore. There was a spark between us. That's why his pupils dilated. He's in love. He's in love…with me.

I watched Carson read my description, and the farther he read, the farther I felt my blush creep up my neck. As he read, I stared at the floor, suddenly interested in the wood grain. He speaks, "This is really amazing. I've never read something so descriptive, especially that of eyes. Although, could you maybe tell me a bit more about glasz? I know somewhat what it is, but I still don't know."

"It-it's like…well if someone has blue eyes. But sometimes, their eyes look grey. Other times they're blue with green in it. Even other times, they're blue and green with flecks of golden yellow. It just depends on their emotions or their feelings." He nods his head along to what I say, and actually seemed genuinely interested. His own eyes were pleading for me to continue. I took a breath, and did, "And really, they're some of the rarest eyes, because very few people have them. I think they're the prettiest though."

He smiles sweetly now. Perhaps it's because he knew I was flattering him, or just because he was happy to know I was happy. He asked if he could keep it so he could put my descriptive essay into the Chronicle. Of course, I agreed. With that, he suggested he should drive me home now. I agreed with that too.

* * *

That car ride was slightly awkward, but mostly enjoyable. We talked about songs on the radio and other clubs we were joining, amongst other things. Carson felt comfortable with me, which made me feel comfortable with him. As the blurs and splashes of trees flew by on the ride, he suddenly asked, "Are you going to go to the dance?"

I shrugged, my eyes still watching the landscape pass, "Maybe. If no one wants to go with me, it seems a little terrible to go by myself. Going Dutch might even be better than going alone."

He just nods again. It was a little irritating how much he did. "Yeah. I doubt anyone would ask me," Carson says with a light chuckle. I wondered if the chuckle was to make up for the fact that he was mocking himself. "I mean, I'm no football player."

"You're really smart though," I say, perhaps a little too quickly, "And that's good to have."

"Smarts aren't something you can just show to someone," he says sadly. "Plus, to be honest, girls go for looks over smarts any day."

"I don't think so," I say quietly, under my breath. He doesn't ask what I'd said, and I assumed he hadn't heard me. Soon, we were at my house. Carson told me we were there even though I knew we were.

"Thanks for the ride," I say.

He smiles, "No problem. Have a good night. See you tomorrow. There's another Writer's Club meeting tomorrow."

"Okay."


	3. Chapter 2

After a long night of homework, I went to sleep. When I awoke to my alarm, I sighed, hitting the button and successively knocking down the clock and my glass of water on my bedside table. I heard my mom ask if I was alright from downstairs, and I called back that I was. Then, after cleaning up the water that splashed onto my hardwood, I started getting dressed. I felt an instinct that it would be cold, so I stuck my face out the window in my room to test the temperature. My instincts were indeed right, and autumn paid me a special gift by blowing a whisper of ice cold wind right in my face. Thanks, autumn, I really appreciate it.

With that, I shut my window, and pulled on my clothes for the day. I knew I should wear either a sweater or a jacket, but I wasn't sure which. I settled on a long blue sweater with some dark colored jeans and some boots. I grabbed my backpack and started downstairs, eating a quick breakfast, brushing my teeth and hair, and then walking to school.

When I got there, I found myself walking to the journalism classroom, having gathered all my books with nearly forty-five minutes to spare. When I knocked tentatively, I heard someone say, "Come in," and I followed their command.

Inside was Carson, working avidly on his laptop, clearly focused on what he was writing.

"Hi, Cars-," I started, but he shushed me, still typing away. I just set my bag on the floor, sat on one of the desks, and let him work, swinging my legs absently. Finally he looked up, "Hey, Riley. Sorry. I was working on my article and I think I finally got it right this time."

I grin, "Do tell."

He reads his article to me now. It was this:

_School Fight Suspension_

_Two students, choosing to remain anonymous, had started a fight in the cafeteria on September 15th. The two students, they admit, had fallen into peer pressure. On of the students says, "I honestly think this dude [in referral to the other student] is one of my best friends, I just punched him 'cause the other kids started yelling."_

_Now the teachers are enforcing a strict watch of the lunch hours, taking shifts and walking up and down the aisles between the tables. Many people are forced to eat quickly to avoid the terror that is Mister Anten after he hasn't had coffee for two hours and got the supervision shift during his lunch break. Will the two suspended students teach others to not fight, or will this just fuel the flame? Who knows._

I listened to him read it, and he looked up at me expectantly. I opened and closed my mouth, not sure what to say, "Um…it was good. But it felt a little…." I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Forced?" he asks.

I nodded again, "Yeah. It seems like you're desperately trying to get an article done."

He groans, "God, I'm losing it. I can't even write anymore!" Carson then gets up and starts pacing.

"Don't be discouraged, Carson," I say quickly, trying to reassure him after my flub. "You can write. You're just in a block right now."

"It's hopeless," he says exasperatedly, "I can't write anymore. There goes my future!"

I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, which stops him dead in his tracks, and I say, "You can. Your future's still in two years. You've got time. A little writer's block just takes a week to go away."

He pulls a chair up and looks over at me, "I'm just scared. I'm losing my drive."

In all the time I'd been to the writers' club (all of about five hours), I'd never expected to have to give a therapy session in the classroom. I took a deep breath and started, "Everyone has drive in them. Some people know how to use it only when they need to, like in an instance of finishing an essay. Some people never know how to use it at all. But you have a drive that keeps going and going, and I've never seen it quit. I don't think it's quit now. I think it's just tired. It's waiting for inspiration to strike."

A smile creeps onto his face, "I'd never thought of that."

"And you should know that it's really okay if you don't write something. We can always publish the Chronicle a little later."

He smiles wider, "God, you're the best." Then, he pulls me in for a warm hug. I felt his cheek pressed against mine and it was a warm electric shock. I recalled a zap from earlier yesterday, when I shook his hand. Maybe he did too. I decided not to bring it up, and let him hug me as long as he needed to. After a short time, Carson pulled away with another grin and let himself laugh, saying, "Well, the old journalism teacher said writing is therapy, but I never knew he meant it like that."

I felt flattered by this statement, and felt a prickle of blush creep up my neck to my cheeks. He chuckled at this, but went over to his computer nonetheless, "Hey, what do you wanna do? We still have like two hours or so."

"Hmmm…," I think for a moment. "I think since we're going to be writers together we should get to know each other, I guess."

"Okay!" he says excitedly, sitting back in front of me, "Where should we start?"

"Um," and with this I try to recall some questions, "Favorite color?"

"Blue, wasn't that obvious? Hmmm, if you could eat anything right now what would it be?"

"Red velvet cake, no question. If you could do anything in the world, what would it be and why?"

"Journalism. Duh! If you found a billion dollars in the street, what would you do with it?"

"You didn't say why," I say.

"What?"

"You didn't say why journalism."

"Oh. Because I'm a journalist? I like to write journalism?"

"Mmm, yeah, that makes sense. And if I did find a billion dollars in the street, I'd buy concert tickets, some clothes, lots of Italian food, and donate the rest to an animal reserve and a program for young writers," I say.

"Damn, you're such a good Samaritan!" he says with a long, almost too long, laugh.

I noticed his tone now. He sounded nervous. He sounded really nervous. Was I making him nervous? Oh god, what if I was?

"D-do I make you nervous?" I blurted.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing!" I say desperately, trying to cover up my mistake.

"No, what did you say?"

"I asked if…if I made you nervous. You sounded nervous…."

Carson looks genuinely confused. I don't know if it was because of my question, or if he didn't know what to answer. I just decided to drop the question, and perhaps pretend that I hadn't said it at all, "Never mind, it's a stupid question. Don't worry about it."

He waved his hand in a dismissive way, "No, no…. You… you kind of make me feel a little nervous… because… I don't know. I just… feel like I've known you for so long, but really, it's been, what?, five hours? That's such a short time but… I feel this weird connection. Whenever I touch you, I feel a spark. I can't find myself wanting to yell at you at all. I don't want to make you feel all the pain and shit I've gone through from other people, but I do that to everyone else. I… I don't know why, though."

I let him talk and speak the way he needed to, in the choppy, rugged sentences that he did. I let him do what he needed to. He was standing in the middle of the linoleum now, staring at the tiles, and not meeting my eyes.

"Carson, don't feel like you should be nervous around me. I'm fine with however you act. And, I feel that connection too. I feel the spark that dances between our fingers. I'm not even lying, I feel it too."

He seemed to feel reassured by this. I was glad that he was. I didn't know what else to say at that point. The bell rang, and I grabbed my stuff. Carson waved a quick goodbye, and I left.


	4. Chapter 3

Three or four months after joining the Writers' Club, Carson and I grew very close. He knew some things about me that I didn't even know myself, and I could read his feelings better than I'd ever thought I could. Time passed and passed, and so did the dance. Neither of us went. He invited me to his house, and we got kiddy-drunk off of sparkling cider and ate brownies. Carson said it was the best dance he'd ever been to, even though we hadn't done any dancing. Not yet, at least.

Some time passed. The winter dance was next for us. It was called the Pokéball, named after Pokémon. I thought it was stupid, but Carson said it brought back an aspect of his childhood. Carson also informed me that this dance was done Sadie Hawkins style, and that proved the point that he wasn't going to get asked.

I chuckled to myself, having thought that Carson had forgotten that he had a best friend who was a girl and might actually ask him. He, however, did not forget this at all. He knew very well that I was his best friend, but did not think I would ask him. Two weeks before the dance, I finally summed up the courage, and tried to ask him over a text.

**To Carson 5:15 PM:**

**Hey…**

**From Carson 5:17 PM:**

**Hey!**

**To Carson 5:20 PM:**

**How are you?**

**From Carson 5:23 PM:**

**I'm good. What about you? Why the sudden conversation?**

**To Carson 5:25 PM:**

**I'm good, but a little nervous. I just wanted to ask you something.**

**From Carson 5:26 PM:**

**Sure!**

**To Carson 5:35 PM:**

**Um…**

**From Carson 5:37 PM:**

**Do you want me to call you? Would that help?**

After that, I didn't say anything. I got so nervous that I couldn't even type anymore. I just threw my phone on my bed in front of me and stared at the ceiling. How was this so hard?! How did guys do this?! I watched the trees make shadows on my ceiling, and then my phone started buzzing. It repeated the buzz several times, and I figured that I had a call. I leaned over and picked it up, "Hello?"

A familiar voice answered me, "Hey. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It's been ten minutes since I sent that text and you aren't one to ignore texts." I sighed, and hoped maybe he had forgotten I had a question to ask him. I was wrong. "You said you had a question for me? Is it about the Chronicle?"

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it, "No, no, the paper's fine. I just…."

"What is it?"

"I was… I was wondering if…." my voice didn't want to work anymore.

"Yes?" he urged.

"Youwantedtogotothedancewithme?!" I said quickly, blurting it and stringing my syllables together.

I heard him chuckle, "I heard that, but slow down. Take your time. It's okay."

Suddenly I felt like crying. He laughed at it. He doesn't want to go with me at all. He thought I was joking. He thought I was being funny. The next thing I knew there were tears going down my cheeks and I couldn't bear to even talk anymore.

"Riley?" Carson said softly.

I didn't say anything.

"I'm coming over. I'll be there soon," he said quickly, hanging up. I just waited.

* * *

I heard a knock on the door, the stumble of my dog running to bark at said door, and then an awkwardly long pause of silence. I heard my mom bustle to answer the door, "How can I help you?"

Carson's voice answered, "I...uh, I was wondering if Riley was home?"

"Yes, she's upstairs in her room. Do you want me to take you up there?" my mom asked. I guessed that he shook his head, because my mom then said, "Okay, dear. It's upstairs, first door on the right." Then, I heard the clomp of his heavy feet on our wood stairs. My mom had torn out the carpet years ago, saying that 'lavender was not a normal carpet color in a residential home.' I just went along with it, not particularly caring what color the carpet was, unless it was in my own room.

I heard a knock on the door, and I rolled over, placing my face in my pillow shamefully, trying to hide my tears.

"Riley? You in there?" I heard him call.

I didn't answer, so I heard him feel for the knob, and turn it...or rather, try to. I had locked my door before.

"C'mon, I just want to talk. You don't have to lock me out," he pleads.

My mom calls from downstairs, "Did she lock her door?"

Carson calls back, "Yeah. It's locked and she won't answer."

"She's probably in one of her moods. The key's on top of the casing above the door."

Carson felt above the top of the molding, and pulled the key. I heard him drop it and swear, then pick it up again and stick it through the hole in the lock. The tumblers inside clattered and clunked as the lock opened, and then he turned the knob without another word. I remained curled up and tangled with my blanket, ignoring him as he sat down at the foot of the bed. He pressed a hand to my form, which, under the blankets, was my leg, "Look, I just want to talk. You don't have to hide from me."

I kept crying, but it was a silent crying; the crying that was the kind of crying that you do when you're so worked up you can't breathe and your tears are endless and your mascara begins to run...if you're wearing any. My shoulders shook and heaved as I cried, and I felt miserable. Which, of course, I had every right to feel. It wasn't my fault he had to stomp all over me. Then again, I should have expected that from him, considering the fact that everyone I know has done it to me somehow.

He didn't say anything after he noticed my shoulders rocking with my upset breath. He remained silent. The silence was deafening, and said everything that I knew he meant. This is what I heard from the silence:

_Y'know, I'm flattered and all that you want to ask me to the dance._

_But I don't want to go._

_Not with you, at least._

_It was a little funny that you thought I would say yes._

_Almost too funny._

_I kind of wonder if it was a joke._

_A practical joke against yourself._

_Why would you joke against yourself?_  
_You get enough jokes as it is, don't you?_

_Why add to it?_

_Sometimes, light-hearted humor actually hurts more than insults._

_And this was the kind of humor that would definitely hurt you._

_I've been friends with you for four months, approximately._

_And I think it was four months too many._

_We can be collegues, sure._

_We can be co-editors._

_We can be president, and vice president._

_But we can't be friends._

_And we most certainly can't be more than that._

The silence ripped me apart completely. All the words he left unsaid tore me to pieces. I couldn't deny it and I couldn't pretend and live in this stupid fantasy of mine. When I would get home after Writers' Club, I would spend hours upon hours upon hours ignoring my homework, staring blankly at my walls, rubbing my hands where he touched them before I left, and just...thinking.

I thought of what would happen if Carson and I did actually get together. What would happen if we decided that we were soulmates, like I thought we were. I thought about what he would say if I asked him to the dance. I thought about what would happen years from now after we'd dated for a long time and he'd pop the pretty question right in front of a crowd. I imagined it in Disneyland, because I'd always said I wanted to go to Disney World, but we never did because Disneyland was far more close (because Fresno was only about an hour from Clover, driving, and two by walking… which Carson sometimes wanted to do. I, of course, pleaded we take his Corvair instead, and he would give in silently, a small smile on his face.). I just would stare at the smooth purple nothingness of my wall for hours on end, as if my staring at it would create a mosaic of what I was thinking. Obviously it didn't, or my embarrassment would be through the roof.

Carson finally broke this cutthroat silence with a clearing of his own throat, "Riley, I'm...worried about you now. I don't want you to be upset. Can we talk? What's wrong?"

I finally sat up and looked at him. He looked handsome...desperately and oh so gorgeously handsome. I heard my mom playing music downstairs in an effort to drown out whatever conversation we were having. She was always so nice...never wanting to eavesdrop.

His eyes were blue as always, his pale pink and sinfully kissable lips parted naturally in a slight 'o' shape as he watched me. I noticed he was wearing the blue sweater. That sweater that drives me crazy and makes me both want to wear the warmth of that sweater and to cling to it with my fingertips while we kissed. I just thought it looked comfortably soft, like a blanket in the winter.

His face pleaded with me to talk, and I didn't. I said nothing to him. I don't like to speak to people who hurt me.

To my surprise, Carson took my hands in his own. He pleaded verbally to me now, "Please. I really don't want you to be hurt or sad or anything. What's wrong?"

I thought for a moment of what I should say, if anything. Finally, I settled for a single word, "You."

He was a little befuddled by this statement, and he closed his mouth. He opened it with a breath, "What about me?"

"You…," I started, then stopped. Shouldn't he know what he did?

"I...what?" he presses.

"You laughed at me."

"What?! I'd never, ever, ever laugh at you. I care about you too much and you've been through-"

"You laughed."

"I don't understand. No I didn't," Carson said, the puzzled expression on his face, however cute it was, continuing to grow.

"I called you. I asked you. You laughed." These words left him silent now. He didn't speak. I didn't blame him. "You laughed," I repeated, "and then I gave up. I cried. You came. I was silent. You pleaded. We talked."

"What comes after that?" Carson asked.

"This can go two ways," I start, letting out a breath. "We forgive and forget, or you break my heart. Pick your choice."

It scared me how long he was silent. It felt like several days had passed between my command and his answer. It was another scathing silence. This one spoke to me too:

_Look. I don't want to talk about this anymore._

_You don't want to talk._

_I won't make you._

_But you realize that I just…_

_I really don't want to talk about this._

I left him to his silence, standing up and going into the hallway. I heard my bed creak as he stood as well, starting after me, "Hey, wait!" I ignored him and kept walking downstairs; the whole way down, of course, he followed me.

"Carson, stop following me. I get it. You don't want to go to the dance with me. A simple no would suffice," I said sadly.

He grabs my hands, "Riley, listen to me." I looked up at him. "Do you want to go to the dance with me?" I didn't answer, and he prodded further, "As my date?" I didn't know if this was of guilt or just because he really meant it. For once, his eyes didn't tell me anything. They revealed nothing more than a glassy shade of blue that read nothing to me. He wasn't an open book. Carson had put his defenses up, but for what reason, I didn't know.

"I'm not kidding you," he says, "I do mean it."

"No you don't," I say. "No one ever means it. You just say it so I'll feel better and you won't have to deal with my tears. You say it so that I don't ever complain about it again. You say it so I'm put in my stupid place. The place where I realize that I'm stupid and ugly and that I don't deserve this."

He looks at me for a long time, then speaks, "Look. I'm going to go back home. You're going to lay in bed for awhile and think about this. I want you to write about it. I want you to let this out through writing. Talk about how terribly everyone has treated you. Talk about Writers' Club. Talk about me. Talk about whatever you need to do. Then, I want you to type it and send it to me. Don't put a title, don't put a subject, don't even sign the email. Just send it to me." With those words said, Carson steps away from me, letting go of my hands, and walks away. I hear the front door shut, then the door to his Corvair.

I look down at my hands. They felt chilled and a little lost without his hands there.


	5. Chapter 4

I layed in bed for about two hours, trying to formulate my thoughts into sentences. There were no tears shed this time. After that, I leaned over to grab my brainstorming notebook, and I brainstormed for about an hour. And now, here I am, typing my finished writing into an email.

_**To**__**: Carson Phillips " .com"**_

_**Cc**__**: (None entered)**_

_**Bcc**__**: (None entered)**_

_**Subject**__**: (No Subject)**_

_**I feel like not a single stupid thing matters to me. Year after year people prank me and ask me to dances and parties and things only to mock me to the ends of the earth and laugh. It's happened so many times, it's become expected. When things are expected, there's little I can do to stop myself from assuming them to be. I thought you were different. I thought that maybe you'd understand how it feels to be kicked around and stepped on to the point where you just don't want to do much of anything.**_

_**But I was wrong.**_

_**You don't know. You're far too confidence, pleased, and overall cocky with yourself to even begin to fathom what it's like to be pushed down so many times. Sure, I bet you've had your fair share of 'Hey Shit Head!' in your life, but you've never gotten it as much as me.**_

_**You aren't different than them.**_

_**You're the same.**_

_**And me?**_

_**I'm a fool.**_

_**A fool for trusting you.**_

_**A fool for giving into what you said was true.**_

_**You saying you'd never want me to be miserable again.**_

_**A fool for believing in you.**_

_**A fool.**_

After finishing this email, I close my eyes, let out a breath, and hit send. I then decide to wait for a reply, if any, and waste the time playing games online. Instead of a reply, however, I hear the familiar da-dum of an IM. I glare at the top, and let out a breath when I see it's from my sister.

**_IM with Mariel "tictacs642 "_**

**_5:15 PM_**

**_Mariel - hey lil sis, what are you up to?_**

**_5:17 PM_**

**_You - nothing really. just sent off a /somewhat/ important email_**

**_and am waiting for a reply._**

**_5:18 PM_**

**_Mariel - what for?_**

I left my cursor blinking in the text box, and watched as the '...' of her typing started, then stopped. She decided to stop talking and wait for me to answer. I heard another da-dum, and looked up at the top:

**_IM with Carson " .com"_**

**_5:19 PM_**

**_Carson - I got your email._**

**_5:19 PM_**

**_You - i bet._**

**_5:19 PM_**

**_Carson - I haven't read it yet._**

**_5:20 PM_**

**_You - okay._**

**_5:22 PM_**

**_Carson - Are you still mad at me?_**

**_5:22 PM_**

**_You - maybe._**

**_5:24 PM_**

**_Carson - Quit being mad at me._**

**_5:24 PM_**

**_You - how about you stop commanding my life? don't tell me what_**

**_i can and cannot do._**

**_5:26 PM_**

**_Carson - Okay._**

**_5:28 PM_**

**_You - okay. _**

**_5:43 PM_**

**_Carson - I'm going to read it now._**

**_5:43 PM_**

**_You - okay._**

**_5:55 PM_**

**_Carson - I'm done._**

**_5:56 PM_**

**_You - congratulations, want a medal?_**

**_5:57 PM_**

**_Carson - Yes._**

**_5:57 PM_**

**_You - too bad._**

**_5:58 PM_**

**_Carson - Damnit._**

**_5:59 PM_**

**_Carson - But I did read your email. Thoroughly._**  
**_6:00 PM_**

**_Carson - Riley?_**

**_6:03 PM_**

**_Carson - Where are you? If you're reading these you must be here._**

**_6:05 PM_**

**_You - …._**

**_6:06 PM_**

**_Carson - Do you want to talk about it here, or should I email you back?_**

**_6:07 PM_**

**_You - whatever you prefer._**

At that point, I let him do whatever he was doing, which apparently was replying in the IM, as the '...' of his typing was constant for nearly ten minutes. He typed and typed and typed and I had no idea what he would say. I'd known people who took twenty minutes just to type 'Hey,' but I figure he didn't take that long.

**_6:20 PM_**

**_Carson - Riley._**

**_Don't feel like I don't care about you. You know as well as I do that I care about you so much. I wouldn't do something to jerk you around, considering how many times that everyone's jerked you around. Remember the other day that Nicholas was yelling stuff at you? Who was there? I was. I had my hand on your shoulder and I was standing there yelling right back._**

**_You know that I really really care about you. Plus, I really do want to go to the dance with you. I think it would be fun, and you do want to go with me. This is definitely a yes between us, but you're scared to agree. I understand that. I would be too, regardless if I was in your situation or not._**

**_But I'm not scared. I'm not scared because I know. I notice how when we talk, we're always talking like we've known each other forever. I notice how when we touch there's a spark between us. I notice how well we work together. I've seen it. I really really think there's something going on between us, and, while I hate the thought of the word, I think it might be love._**

**_Y'know, I really do hate that word though. It comes off the tongue too many times. 'I love you!' But you really don't, do you? So many people say that just to make people stay for a little longer. But if I did say that, it would be true. I think I'd only say that to you. HEY! That rhymed. Okay, now I'm rambling. I'm gonna hit enter now._**

I left my cursor blinking in the reply bar for a little while, and he didn't say anything. I read it through four times, and then a fifth before typing my answer.

**_6:32 PM_**

**_You - okay. my answer's yes. i understand. and y'know what?_**

**_6:33 PM_**

**_Carson - Yeah?_**

**_6:34 PM_**

**_You - i love you._**

**_6:35 PM_**

**_Carson - :)_**

It felt so weird to know that I'd just said that to him. Especially considering ten minutes ago, I'd thought he hated me. But I know now that he doesn't hate me. He loves me. That still sounds weird! But he loves me! He loves me! Of course, now I had to figure out what on earth I was going to do for the dance. I was so sure I wasn't going that I didn't really have time to prepare. After all, I only had two weeks. I looked at the computer, and typed something else:

**_6:48 PM_**

**_You - hey, i have a question._**

**_6:52 PM_**

**_Carson - Shoot. Excuse the late reply. Mom was yelling. (As per usual!)_**

**_6:54 PM_**

**_You - it's fine. but since its friday, do you wanna go to the mall? i still need to buy a dress since we're going and i could use the company._**

**_6:56 PM_**

**_Carson - Yeah! That sounds great. Should I get you at eight?_**

**_7:00 PM_**

**_You - mhm. see you then._**

I lean forward to shut my laptop now, deciding to grab something to eat and then getting ready. I knew he would be on time, but I still had some time left over either way. So, after throwing on some jeans and a hoodie that Carson himself had lent me (because shockingly enough, it was cold in California for once), I sat back by my desk and opened the novel I was reading. I was nearly finished with it, but I found myself so excited that I had read the same paragraph three times in a row.

Out of nowhere, I heard a thud, then a crash, and I glared at my door, calling downstairs, that is, until I recalled that I was the only one here now. My parents had left hours ago and my sister was off at college. I looked around the room for a minute, panicked, then made a grab for my phone as I flicked off the lights in my room.

I sent a quick text now, to the only person I could think of:

**To Carson 7:02 PM**

**i think theres someone in my house and im really scared right now**

**From Carson 7:04 PM**

**Whoa wait a minute. What's going on?**

**To Carson 7:06 PM**

**i think theres SOMEONE in my HOUSE and I AM SCARED right N O W**

**From Carson 7:08 PM**

**Okay calm down. I'll be there soon.**

**To Carson 7:10 PM**

**you might not wanna come what if they're gonna kill you i dont know whats going to happen!?**

**From Carson 7:13 PM**

**I think I can handle it. Don't worry.**

I just let him come. If he doesn't want to listen to me, fine, thats his problem. I heard footsteps downstairs, then clomping upstairs. I threw myself under my bed in fear, hoping they wouldn't come into my room. I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest as I breathed as shallowly and silently as I could, when I heard my door open. I tucked myself more closely under the bed, pleading and hoping that he wouldn't look and find me there. In front of me was a set of legs in dark slacks, with black tennis shoes, and that was as far as I could see. I watched them walk around.

They went to my desk, and I waited for them to snatch up my laptop, but they didn't. They reached over and picked up the box that I kept on my nightstand. In it was a bracelet my sister had made me before she went to college, a ring that my mom bought me for Christmas one year with my birthstone in it, and my most prized possession: a necklace Carson had given me. He gave it to me on the third month anniversary of our friendship, saying that it's both the longest and best friendship he'd ever had with someone. The next day, I brought him an anthology of journalism and some brownies I had made. That night, he came over and we ate the brownies and we took turns reading the journalism book to each other. I wasn't all that interested in the journalism part, but rather hearing him talk about it so happily and spending time with him.

The man opened the box, rifling through it, before closing it again and setting it back on the nightstand. I wondered where my dog was at this time, but there wasn't much he would have done anyways. As I watched the man look at all of the things in my room with bated breath, I heard a car door outside. The time crawled by and I heard the door open quietly downstairs, but I was sure the man didn't hear it, as he kept looking. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs ever so silently, but I knew there was someone there because guests never knew about the quiet squeak of the stairs. Again, the man didn't hear it. It was then that I saw some dark wash jeans and blue sneakers, and I recognized them in an instant. I prayed that he would be okay.

The man turned around and saw Carson there, and yelped, "What're you doing here? The house was empty five minutes ago!"

Carson didn't answer his question, "Get out."

"What?"

"Get. Out."

I watched so nervously, my breath barely even giving me oxygen at all. The man turned and went out the door. I was shocked that even just that command had worked. I heard Carson again now, "Hey! Is anyone home? Helloooo?" I didn't answer because I was so shaken from fear. He peeked into my closet, but to no avail, as I was not there. He checked everywhere, before kneeling down and checking under the bed, "Riley?"

"Hi," I said lamely.

"There you are! I was worried sick. Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, "Just scared."

Carson pulled me out from under the bed and took my hands in his, "I'm here now, though. Nothing's going to hurt you now." I looked down at the floor, and he wrapped his arms closely around me, and I felt safe and warm. I was held in his embrace for quite some time, and my body began to shake with the worry still washing over me. I hear him take a breath quickly, "Woah, what's going on?"

I kept shaking, harder than before, and the only things I could think about was the fact that they could have taken something or that someone could be hurt or that they could have hurt Carson. Thoughts streamed in my mind and everything seemed to be falling apart and I shook harder and my breath became heavy and worried. I couldn't say anything at all, and he was beginning to worry. He squeezed my hands tightly and just repeated, "It's okay. You're okay," over and over and over until his voice started to crack. He stopped saying it when he started crying from being scared. At that point, we had two people crying and being so scared, and us two together was only keeping us from breaking completely.

I found myself clung to his sweater, gripping it as if my life depended on it, and he kept wringing his hands through my hair over and over. We sat like that for a long time, neither one of us wanting to break the silence. I kept shaking and crying and he held me until I stopped. Finally, he pulled out a bit and asked, "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," I reply.

I stood up, and, to my surprise, Carson follows me. I didn't know where I was going, I just wanted to leave the room. He followed, and took my hand carefully in his, before saying, "Let's go on a drive." I didn't reply, so he just pulled me outside and opened the passenger door for me. I got in, and he put the top of the car down. With the top down-and me safely strapped into the passenger seat-, Carson set to work starting the car. He turned the station to the classic Spanish music station, rolled down my window, and left the key in the ignition. After this number was complete, he got into the drivers' seat, and started the ignition.

Without a word, he changes the station to a pop station, to which I reach over to the CD changer, and play disc three. I knew this disc well. This was the CD that he and I made together one day when Writers' Club was slow. I'd found a blank CD in my backpack, and he told me he had a music downloader that we could use, and suggested a mix CD. We pored for hours into the CD, and now it had our favorite music on it. The songs we shared together. This CD was played at least once every time I was in his car. The tracklist is this:

_1. You'll Go Far, Kid - The Offspring_

_2. I am Not a Robot - Marina & the Diamonds_

_3. The Great Escape - Patrick Watson_

_4. Escape Route - Paramore_

_5. The Gambler - Fun._

_6. G.I.N.A.S.F.S. - Fall Out Boy_

_7. Miracle - Paramore_

_(Now would be a good time to play the playlist! -A/N)_

Carson smiled at the fact that I played the disc, and that I knew which one it was to play at all. We listened to it, and I heard him humming quietly to the songs we'd put on there. I remembered that he had only put three songs on there, and I the rest. He put the first three tracks, and I put rest of them. We drove for what felt like hours, and at each and every stoplight, Carson would take his hand from the stick-shift and rub the back of my hand, offering me a small smile. I returned these smiles to reassure both himself and myself, and because I wanted to show him I wasn't as weak as he thought I was.

My mind threaded through ideas while the lyrics to the songs flooded in and out of my ears, until Carson suddenly hit the brakes on the side of the road. He reached over and unbuckled his seatbelt, before startling me into awareness, "Hey, we're here." I looked around. We were on one of the offroads on the highway leading from Clover. The pale and desert-like landscape didn't look all that appealing, but it felt good to be in a place where he was the only one who knew my name.

I felt like he knew that I wanted to be somewhere far away from Clover at that point of my life. I knew that I did, at least, and perhaps I was that easily read. Although, judging by why he had brought me there at all, I guessed I was read easily, but not easily enough. Carson plopped himself down on the ground both unceremoniously and ungracefully, then I followed, sitting carefully, and pressing my palm against the dusty, dry ground.

He didn't wait for me to shift myself comfortably, "What's going on with you?"

I blinked for a minute, then turned to him, "What do you mean?"

"You...How do I say this?" he starts. "You're acting a little different. I feel like theres a part to your past you aren't telling me."

"I'm scared," I said softly.

"Of what?" Carson asks. His voice was so tender, and it was a voice I'd only heard him use for me.

"Of trusting people. I can't bear to let people know of my past that shouldn't or will bear false against me because of it."

"I know," he agrees. "I don't tell people about my childhood. The only person… or rather… thing… that knows is my journal. At least I know that my journal won't tell anyone." Carson's joke fell flat into the air, landing to the earth with an imaginarily loud thud that we both heard to ourselves. I heard a car whoosh by behind us, which was odd for this highway, considering hardly anyone went to or from Clover, and especially onto the off-road leading to an abandoned farmer's market by the beach.

I just nodded, leaving his joke dead in the dirt, and him struggling for something to say.

"Do you want to trust me with it?" Carson asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Do I?" I ask him the same question.

"I think you do. I wouldn't tell a single living soul. Ever," he promises.

I took a breath, and, to my own shock, I told him everything. I started right from when I started being bullied to my anorexia, then to my continued bullying and my almost suicides. By the end of it, he had my hands in his, and he looked at me with those big blue eyes. They were comically large, and I couldn't find a bit of those blue-tinged pools that wasn't filled with pity and sadness for me. After that, Carson said nothing, but began slowly pressing kisses to each of my knuckles, before finally speaking, "That's a lot. A lot for just one girl to handle."

I nodded slowly in agreeance, and he paused. Then, he continued, "No one is going to hurt you ever again. I won't let anyone hurt you." I nodded for the third time in this conversation, and he pulls me up by my hands, which he was still clasping, "C'mon. I want to take you somewhere else." I sat into the passenger seat, buckled in, and turned to flip the radio to the classic Spanish music station. He smiled at me, then pushed the key into the ignition and rolled down my window again. Then he turned the key, and the engine purred, but wouldn't start.

"C'mon baby, please don't fight with me right now."

I reach forward, clicking open the glove compartment, and he gets out again, circling to the back of the car. Carson applies a sturdy kick to the back license plate of the car, and I slam shut the glove compartment, then whip over to turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars back to life, and Carson breathes out, "Thank God. I was scared we were gonna be stuck out here."

"You know your car loves me," I joke.

He smiles to himself again, then starts driving down the off-road. I left the Spanish classics on, and he didn't change it either, so I listened to the song. As the words hit me, I began translating them using what little I had learned in class when I wasn't throwing balls of paper at the back of Carson's head.

_'Aprende a amar como le pasan los días. Y aprende a ver que la gente no es muy diferente. Se enamoran, oh, se enamoran.'_

When my mind had finished working it out, I had translated this:

_She learns to love as the days pass her by. And he learns to see that people aren't all that different at all. They fall in love, oh, they fall in love.'_

The song c_'_ontinued and the refrain played a final time. Even after the song had ended and the commercials began, the refrain replayed itself in the back of my mind. I was silent the rest of the trip, and Carson made no effort to talk either. Finally, he pulled onto a little road called Pacifica Plains Parkway, and then onto Pacifica Drive. He drives all the way to the end of this road.

Soundlessly, he gets out of the car. I follow suit, getting out and sitting next to him on the chipping red paint of the hood of the car. I felt his hand go on top of my own, and then he wrapped his fingers around mine. Our hands interlaced. The sun began to set and I breathe in the smell of the salty air and the seaweed. I listen to the chirps of the seagulls and the crash of waves lapping against the shore. He turned to me, "Is this your first time at Pacifica?"

I nod, "Yes. Also my first time at the ocean at all."

"Mm," he says absently, and his hand in mine pulls me closer to him. We sit hip-to-hip on the hood of his old Corvair, and that was where he kissed me. Carson kissed me on the hood of his '73 Corvair while the oceans kissed the shore and the sun kissed the dusk and the day kissed the night. I felt like we were meant to be in the same way that books say that soulmates are meant to be. With a soft mwah, he pulls away. I turn away quickly, facing my chocolate brown eyes into the ocean, until he clears his throat for my attention.

"Maybe we should head back home. Before it gets too late," Carson says softly.

I agree, "Yep. Don't want my family to worry." With that, we slide off the hood of the car and into our respective seats in the car. Carson clicks on the mix tape again, and we listen in silence.

_I'm not going. Cause I've been waiting for a miracle. I'm not going. Cause I won't let you give up on a miracle when it might save you._

We sat there for ages even after stopped, and, with a quick pat of my hand, Carson says, "Hey. We're here now." I noticed we were at his house rather than my own. I parted my lips to speak, but he shushed me, and got out of the car. I followed wordlessly, and he led me inside. For once, his mother wasn't here.

"She's out for once. She has a doctor's appointment," Carson adds, in explanation. I nod along and then wait for him to lead me wherever he wanted to go. He walked into the living room, which had thus been cleaned up; no more bottles-wine or prescription-remained. Again, with little grace and very unceremoniously, he plopped onto the soft cushions of the couch. The couch was a dusty brown color that looked tired and dreary, but the stark color of the blue of his sweater made a vivid and interesting contrast. He patted the cushion next to himself, and I sat. He took my hands in his own and pulls me close, letting me rest myself against him whichever way I pleased.

He leaned over to pick up the TV remote, and flicks it on. Of course, the default was of his mother, that being the daytime television. This time, it was the Ellen Show. Carson chuckled to himself, and then he switched the channel to a movie that I hadn't seen before, but he had. He kept quoting it from the movie as the characters would speak, and I could tell he was fond of the film.

As time drew on, I got tired. My phone vibrated suddenly to wake me up, and I peered down to see a text from my mom asking where I was. I sent a quick text back saying I was at Carson's and that I was spending the night there. Or, rather, I assumed I would be. But, nonetheless, my mom told me to have fun and be safe. Safe from what? I don't know. I curled back up into my stupor between wakefulness and sleep, letting myself doze in and out of consciousness. Eventually, around eleven, the movie ended and Carson untangled himself from me before heading into the kitchen. I heard him clatter around for awhile while I layed on the couch, and he bustled around. I didn't know what on earth he was doing, but I suppose it didn't matter.

He came back in with two glasses of milk and some cookies that looked questionably stale. I glanced at them, then at him. Carson just chuckled, setting them on the table, and putting the glasses on coasters, "I know the cookies might be stale, but I'm positive the milk isn't expired. I promise you."

I smelled it, "It smells expired."

"Try me!" he challenges with a smirk, picking the other glass up. He took a sip, "See! It's fine!" Of course, moments later, his eyes bugged out, and I heard him swear to himself, "So this actually was spoiled…!"

"What was the date on the carton?"

"10/23…," he says quietly.

"Thats October 23rd. That's been expired for weeks!" I said, starting to laugh.

"I thought it meant October of like 2023!" he says indignantly.

"Carson, that would make the milk some sort of extraterrestrial, especially with all of the preservatives they'd have to put in for it to even go to 2014 without curdling. You're such a dork."

"Buuuuut," Carson holds out the vowel, "I aaaaam youuuur dooooork."

"That much is true. Now c'mere, spoiled milk. I know you have West Side Story and I want to watch it."

"We watched it like last week though," he protests.

"You know you like singing for Tony," was all I replied with before he gave in, and stuck the disc into the DVD player.


	6. Chapter 5

I woke up at 3 AM. The tic-toc of the clock woke me and caused me to stress a little bit. I wondered where I was for a few moments, until I felt a warm mass against my body. I glanced over and found that Carson was next to me, and that I was laying on him. I started to get up but found his arm wrapped around my waist and our hands interlaced together. There was no way I was going to get out of this. I just curled closer and went back to sleep now, feeling far too lazy and tired to want to object any longer. I laid there, watching the clock tick by for about ten minutes until I drifted off to sleep. I felt safe. I felt warm. But most of all, I felt happy. Really happy.

* * *

The next morning, I woke first again, and Carson was still sound asleep. I nudged him lightly against his ribs, and whispered, "Carson?" His eyelashes fluttered open and he smacked his lips together to get rid of the dryness that had resulted from him sleeping with his mouth open. He grunted absently in response, then rolled over again. I could hear him softly snoring again, so I decided a more direct approach. I dug my fingers under his armpit and he yelped into a laughing spree while I tickled him. His eyes were wide and huge and then he started slapping at my hands to get me to stop, wheezing and whining for me to quit, "Riiileeeeey stoooooop!"

I giggled and kept tickling him and he kept whining. I found myself to enjoy the whining noises that came from his mouth, which only fueled me to tickle him longer and ignoring his pleas for me to stop. The high squeaking that came from the back of his throat was an animalistic and almost frighteningly guttural sound, and it both shocked me and made me want to keep making him make the noise. However, he slapped my arm hard enough to shock me into stopping. After stopping, he sat up, gasping for air and laughing still from the residual effect. He laid back again, grabbing my hand and pulling me back to lay next to him. We stared at the dimly lit ceiling for awhile, counting the cracks and crevices that splayed through the plaster, only making noise to point out another crack in the ceiling that the other hadn't seen.

It was silent, but not an awkward silence. It was a silence that both he and I were contented in, and neither wanted to leave. With his hand clasped in my own, we just layed there, and then I noticed that he had closed his eyes, so I broke the silence, "If you don't wake up, I'm going to have to tickle you again." Carson's eyes whipped open at that, and he peered at me through his lashes, "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would," I teased. He chuckled at this, and we went back to laying there. Suddenly he bursts out, "Do you want to go down to the park?"

I look at him for a moment. "Which park?"

"Railroad Park? Or maybe we could go to Dry Creek Trail if you want to take a walk," he suggests.

"Railroad's the one with the playground, right?" I ask. He nods. "Then let's go to Railroad. I could use a bit of time on a swingset. For memories."

Carson grins and teases me now, "Or maybe because you're secretly a five-year-old."

I got up, pulling him up by our hands, "Secretly?"

With this, we both walked out the door and to his car. After it started-albeit with some struggle as per usual-, we drove to Railroad Park. We then went to the swing-sets, and swung next to each other. It was another silence, save for the sounds of the early birds and the trees rustling. I didn't expect much from the kiddy park yet, since it was around ten AM, when most people had hardly gotten up. I spent a lot of my time sitting on the swing, but Carson got bored rather quickly. He eventually just got up and started pushing my swing, despite my feet dragging against the mulch and wood chips underneath the swing. I didn't protest, as he seemed to be having fun. Soon, however, kids began to show up. Carson stops my swing with a grip of the chains, "You wanna ditch? We could go for a drive down the highway. You know, really fast. With the top down."

I grinned so widely that my cheeks hurt, "Let's do it. Kids are boring, anyways."

"Not so much boring as tightfisted," Carson quips to himself, before taking my hand and leading me back to his car. I noticed two tweenaged boys standing near the hood of his car, and I felt his hand start to clench.

"Shhh," I cooed, "It's okay. I'll take care of it." I talked to the boys now, "Hey, boys! What're you two up to?"

One of the boys turns, "What kind of car is this?"

"A '73 Corvair Monza Spyder," we both say at the same time.

"Oh! I thought it was a different model," the other boy says. "It's a nice car."

"Thanks," Carson says.

I nod kindly, "Well, we've got to head off. Bye, you two. Stay in school!"

We both piled into the car, and then hurried off.

"'Stay in school'?!" Carson says, his voice lilting with teasing.

"What would you have said?!" I countered. He replied with a laugh. We drove all the way to the highway, and pulled onto the huge street. As we started to climb in speed, the familiar first track played, and Carson reached over to turn the dial up louder, increasing the volume as he put down the top to the Corvair. I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up in the seat, while Carson grinned and laughed, pressing harder on the gas. My hair whipped around me as I sang-and yelled- to the song, "Now dance, fucker, dance! Man, he never had a chance! And no one even knew it was really only you. ANd now you steal away, take him out today. Nice work you did, you're gonna go far kid. With a thousand lies and a good disguise: hit 'em right between the eyes, hit 'em right between the eyes. When you walk away, nothing more to say, see the lightning in your eyes, see 'em running for THEIR LIVES!" Around the end of the song, Carson joined in, and we were both singing at the top of our lungs.

The song faded out, and I sat down, the adrenaline lost for the time being. Tracks two and three passed while we kept driving. I watched him drive, glancing at his hair that would flip and fight against the wind, and then to his lips, which he would lick occasionally while turning into another lane. Track four started just as Clover's city-limit sign came into view on the horizon.

_I've got a life out there somewhere, it's waiting, lined with palm trees and only new faces. If i could look past the present and get there, well baby it's worth a shot. Just enough time to plan an escape route. I put my map on the wall in the basement. Not quite a victory to run from your problems, but it's the only plan that I got. It's the only plan that I got._

As we passed right over the line, Carson leaned over and yelled over the music, "We should keep driving!"

"Why? Won't everyone get worried?" I yell back.

"No! We need a break anyways. Our school year doesn't continue for another two weeks! Let's drive to Las Vegas!"

"Why?!" I call, "Why not just somewhere else in California?"

"Because I'm tired of shitty old California!" Carson bellowed back, "We're gonna go!" I didn't worry about it. The music turned itself around several times, repeating as we sang along to ourselves. When we saw the border sign between California and Nevada, the song bellowed to us:_ And if you try to find me now, I'm in all the echoes that have faded out. So… I'm moving on, 'cause I just want to feel for once that I belong. That's what's going on. Yeah, that's what's going on._

As we drove over the border, the song continued for us, oddly accurate for our current situation. _Crossed the state line, and called out a warning. Not too long now, I'll breathe, California. Paid my dues and I tried to be loyal, but now I'm done with all that. We want, you left. We're left to start over. It's not a question of who we are really, it's of who we want to be._ The refrain crossed, and Carson yelled, "Doesn't it seem like time's just going slow?"

The singer then sang to us,_ But time has not been kind to me. It's not been kind to me. It's winding backwards. Time has not been kind. Its crawling by… so… slowly…._ Carson looks at me, shocked, "Did she just…?"

I nodded. "I feel like this is similar to us. Or at least, our friendship and career choice… and our regards to our hell of a city." I nodded, then remembered a song, "Did you bring your phone with you?" He nods, and I ask him for it. Carson hands it over, and I look it up on YouTube. I let it play for him, and he smiled, "We need to add this to the CD. It could be our song."

I grinned too, "Our song." I liked the thought of that. A song just for us. After the song ended, I stopped the video and then turned off his phone for him. I set it into the cup-holder, and he thanked me. I set the CD back to playing, and we sat in silence. The wind continued to whip by us as we sat, and then Carson groans next to me.

"I'm getting really tired of driving. Did you bring your wallet with you?" he questions.

"I would have, but I didn't," I say, to his anguish.

"Then let's pull over for a little while." He follows his own words, pulling to the side of the highway, and I flick off the CD. We sit there, for a moment, then he takes my hand. I look up at the sky, and he does the same. The two of us watch the clouds float past, the cottony wisps stark against the azure of the Californian-or rather, Nevadan- sky. "Do you want to cuddle in the backseat for a bit?" he asks me.

"Sure," I agree. With this, Carson lets go of my hand and climbs into the back seat, leaning himself against the side of his car. I lay next to him, our feet tangling together and our hands interlacing while I laid my head against his shoulder, tucking it into the crook of his neck. He smelled like a salty sweet taste, a new book, and a little bit-curiously so-like Red Bull. We laid together there for quite some time, the only sounds were our hums of contentment and the whoosh of cars passing by. I didn't ever want to leave the backseat of the car. He pulls me closer to himself, and presses a sweet and chaste kiss to the tip of my nose, his blue eyes filled with love. I looked back up at him and kissed his lips quickly, shyly. He returned back with another kiss, this one longer and more lingering, his lips pressing perfectly against my own. I reciprocated the kiss back as best as I could, and I felt his hand slide down my back, sending a shiver down my spine. With a shudder, I pulled away, tucking my face into his neck, and letting him grip around my waist, closing his eyes with more contentment.

I breathed out against his neck, "This is the best time I've ever had."

"Me too," he replies. We sat in silence a little while longer until Carson climbed back to the front and started driving again.


	7. Chapter 6

We got to Las Vegas just before night. Carson somehow had procured money to pay for a hotel. Together, we went to our room, and plopped onto the bed. I noticed that it was a queen bed, but there was only one bed altogether. This meant that we would be sharing the bed. I decided to lay down the rules I needed to say, "Okay." I started like this to get his attention. When he turned, I continued, "Since we're sharing a bed, I want you to know, despite whether you were thinking of this or not, that I'm not ready for sex or anything like that. We can kiss and cuddle, of course, and maybe, when I trust you, we can make out, but I'm nowhere near ready for sex."

He nods in agreeance. I continue, "As for whatever reason you brought me here, we're both not legal, so I don't want to do anything illegal… in example, drinking or gambling. I don't take you for that kind of guy, but I'm just trying to touch base on everything. Lastly, I don't care where and when we eat or do activities, as long as you tell me about whatever it is we're doing before we go. Unless, of course, it's like your beach surprise. Then, by all means, surprise me."

Carson smiles fondly at my mention of Pacifica. I did too. He nods again, "Okay. I wasn't planning to have sex or anything illegal, so you're okay about that. And, I will make sure to tell you what's going on. I know you hate being mis- or malinformed." I smiled even wider at his recollection-or was it remembrance?-of something I liked and disliked.

I looked at the clock, and the time read 7:34 PM. "Should we get room service?" I question.

"Good idea," he picks up the menu from inside the drawer of the bedside table, and we look at it together. After poring for awhile, we decide to order a vanilla cake. Why not an actual meal? We were in Las Vegas! We weren't going to have a kiddy meal! We were eating that whole fucking cake and no one was going to stop us! Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Carson gathered the money to pay for the cake. He handed it to the woman delivering it, thanked her, and set the cake on the bed, opening the chaffing dish's lid carefully. Underneath was a beautifully iced vanilla cake with white icing and rosettes that were blue and red. On the top, one of the bakers had piped, 'Congratulations on escaping Clover!' on the top.

He grins at the piping over the top, then handed me a fork, "Ready to go?"

"I thought you'd never stop inspecting the damn icing!" I squealed giddily, stabbing my fork into the cake and taking a bite. I hummed with pleasure of the taste. He takes a bite too, and we flip on the TV and watch America's Next Top Model, because The CW was the only channel the TV picked up. Around eleven thirty, we had finished the cake, and we both sighed contentedly. With this, Carson sets our forks on the tray, then places it on the table in the corner of our room. He toes off his shoes, then curls up in bed next to me. He pulled the down comforter closer to us both, then wrapped his arms around me, spooning me close. As my eyes fluttered shut, he began pressing kisses against my cheeks and the back of my neck, where my hair parted. While I was drifting into the limbo between wakefulness and sleep, he flipped off the TV, and nestled his cheek against my own. He whispered quietly into my ear, "'Night, Riley. Have some great dreams. I'll be right here when you wake up…." I heard his voice drift off for a moment as he yawned, then he finished with, "I love you." I yawned out an 'I love you' in return, and Carson smiled against my cheek, before falling into a sound sleep.

* * *

In the morning, I woke up and groaned. My back hurt like hell, and I had no idea why. I rolled over and was face to face-nose-to-nose-with Carson. I grunted in surprise, and he wrapped himself closer, smiling in his sleep. I figured out why my back hurt. He was gripping me in a death grip. I knew I wasn't going to easily escape his death grip, so I limply settled myself back into his chest. In response, Carson made a kitten-like purr of contentment. But, as I looked out the window of our little hotel room, I took notice to a bird hurtling towards it at top speed. I watched it, and then with a loud thud, the bird crashed into the window. Carson jolted awake, "What the fuck was that? Where's the fire?"

I chuckled to myself at his sudden startling, and then took a hint of pleasure in his morning drawl. "There's no fire, boo. It was just a bird hitting the window." He bursts out laughing, in that high, squeaky laugh that he only seems to use when I tell him something that was truly funny. This made me smile and start laughing too. "Does this hotel have breakfast?" I ask.

"Mhmm," he says absently, before pulling me closer by my waist, "But it goes 'til ten. Let's lay here for awhile." I agreed silently by curling closer, and he presses a soft kiss to my forehead. It was just quiet and calm, and we had little care in the world. We laid together like that for about an hour, the same way we did back at his house yesterday. Yesterday felt so far away from me now.

Eventually, we got up, and stumbled our way downstairs, pausing only in the elevator. When we reached the bottom floor, and worked our way into the little dining cafe. We each picked our respective meals, and sat across from each other, eating silently. As before, our silence wasn't awkward or uncomfortable in the least; we both felt comfortable and happy being in the silence, as it seemed to say volumes, as did every other one between us. After eating, Carson suggested our plans for the day, excitement rising in his voice in a giddy, childish way I hadn't heard from him before, "We should go see the top seven famous landmarks of Las Vegas."

"According to who?" I ask.

"Wikipedia," he replies with a light chuckle, before running off the list to me.

1. Welcome to Las Vegas Sign

2. Vegas Vic

3. Hoover Dam

4. Las Vegas Strip

5. Downtown Las Vegas

6. Fremont Street Experience

7. Bellagio Fountains

With our plan in action, we both got up, took care of the dishes we had, and then walked out to the car. "After we do all this, we should head back home." Carson nodded in agreement, and then we turned up our radio all the way, driving with the top down to the first destination. We each took turns posing in front of the sign, then asked some people to take pictures of us together. At each location, Carson ensured that we took at least one picture of him kissing my cheek or me kissing his. Next we went to Vegas Vic, and Carson posed like Vic was, being the dork that he was, and I snapped a photo. Then, he grabbed my hands and pulled me close, asking a passersby to take our picture. He pressed his lips against my cheek while I smiled at him. Then, for my own candid shot, I put my hands against Vic's boot, and pretended as if he was crushing me. Carson chuckled as he took the picture, and I smiled afterwards. We piled into the car once more, and then headed for Hoover Dam.

For our picture of both of us-of course, besides the cheek kissing-, we pulled a Titanic, me standing on the edge of the dam, and him holding my waist. Thankfully, the wind blew by us, and ruffled my hair. Then, we each took our candids, and went on our way to the Strip. We walked for awhile, taking pictures and smiling a lot, like normal people would. After the strip came Downtown. We looked around and shopped a little, and Carson purchased a bracelet that he gave to me. We went to the Fremont Street Experience next, and, on the projector screen above the walkway, we saw our faces grinning back at us. Carson snapped a photo of us, kissing my cheek like he did with every other picture. There was a moment, and someone else snapped a picture of us standing there, looking at each other with so much love.

Last was the Bellagio Fountains. Night was falling when we got there. Tonight, the lights of the fountain were blue and red, just like the rosettes of our vanilla cake. We sat on one of the benches together, and he held my hand in his. We sat for ages, watching the water splashing in patterns, as the reds and blues combined into purples, and the brightness of our eyes reflected them just the same. I wondered if he would kiss me again, but, alas, he didn't. He didn't kiss me, but he did say he loved me. That almost made up for it. Almost.

We both headed home after that. We turned in the keycards to our hotel room, paid our fare, and then hopped into the Corvair. It was nearly seven when we headed home. Carson promised he'd be fine driving the whole night as long as I could manage to keep him awake until I fell asleep. I kept this promise, and left on my mixtape afterwards on a loud volume to keep him I fell asleep, I heard him singing along to the song I had played for him on the way here. The song he said was our song.

_Give me a reason to make me smile, because I've forgotten how. I want to fall asleep with you. I wanna know that I am safe when you hold me tight. I wanna feel how I wanna feel forever. I want you. I want you. I want you tonight. I want you tonight. Oh oh oh…_

As his voice faded off as he sang the ohs of the song, I faded into sleep, and he kept driving. I felt oddly comfortable for sleeping in a car, and I felt safer than ever. I felt Carson throw his sweater over me to keep me warm while we drove.

* * *

When I woke up, I saw a pale blue down comforter, and a mass of brown hair in front of me. I blinked a few times, then rolled over and went back to sleep. I would figure out where I was some time in the future was about ten minutes later, when the mass next to me woke up, and groaned.

This woke me, and I said, "Where am I?"

"You're in my room," Carson replied. "And currently laying on my arm. Probably why it felt dead." I just chuckled and rolled over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He responds with one to my nose, and then we hear the stomping of his mother. "Oh boy, here comes the shittiest mother ever, Sheryl Phillips."

I snort, and there, in the flesh, was the woman herself, Sheryl Phillips. Sheryl was a mess after Carson's dad left, turning to pills and wine instead of her problems, and she hardly ever left the couch. The only exceptions to this were doctors appointments and to yell at Carson for something. She, of course, was here for the latter. I slid under the blankets, and Carson pretended I wasn't there. We didn't want Sheryl to confront us again. Last time, she screamed at him for fifteen minutes then passed out. We both knew she wouldn't remember the fact that I was there.

"Why did I hear voices up here?" Sheryl asks.

"You didn't. Must be all the meds you're taking," Carson counters.

Sheryl snorts at this, "Psh. I heard you talking to someone." When he didn't say anything, Sheryl continued, "A girl." Carson laughs again, and then Sheryl groans, thus stomping out of the room, "I better not hear a peep!" As soon as she had left, I slid back up from the covers, and laughed.

"She's such an idiot," Carson says with a laugh of his own.

I smiled, "So what're we gonna do today?"

"Just lay here for like four hours," he replies. "What's the point in getting up?"

"Very true," I agreed, and rolled over to face him. "It feels like we went to Vegas...forever ago."

"I know. But maybe we'll go back there when we're legal. See the other half of 'fun' in Vegas," he say with a chuckle, before wrapping his arms around my waist again. "What time is it, do you know?"

"I think it's about ten AM."

"Let's go back to sleep. It's way too early to exist right now." I nodded in assent, and then we both curled close and went to sleep. Little did we know we were in for the talk of our lives when we woke up again.


	8. Chapter 7

Now that we had gotten longer than our eight hours, Carson poked my ribs to wake me up. I groaned and slapped my hand blindly, feeling it hit his face, and he yelped in surprise. I laughed, and he took my hand from his face and tangled his fingers into mine. We laid there for a moment, then, abruptly, the door slammed open. Of course, in front of us, was shitty Sheryl. She eyed the both of us, and I couldn't hide under his covers now. She'd seen me. "What's she doing here? I've never seen her in my life."

"Because you were always gone or passed out when she was here."

Sheryl's eyes turn to some sort of fire, and her voice raises to a screechy yell that I hated, "Why didn't you wake me up?!"

"Because every time I try to wake you up you yell at me and never tell me to wake you up!" Carson defends.

"WELL THEN, WHY DIDN'T YOU REALIZE THAT THIS IS SOMETHING THAT A SON TELLS HIS MOTHER?!"

"BECAUSE YOU DON'T ACT LIKE A FUCKING MOTHER. YOU ACT LIKE I'M A MISTAKE. YOU TELL ME I'M A MISTAKE. WHY DO YOU KEEP GOING HOT AND COLD ON ME? I JUST WANT YOU TO FINALLY UNDERSTAND THAT I'VE STARTED TO BE HAPPIER BECAUSE OF WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING TO ME!" Carson yells.

My eyes widen between the two screaming at each other, and, while both was distracted, I slipped myself under the covers, where their voices were muffled and hard to hear, and I took a breath. In Carson's anger and distress, I felt him squeeze my hand harder and harder with each syllable he yelled. At times, he squeezed so hard a tiny whimper escaped me. I felt so small under these covers, like I was a toddler playing hide and seek. But there was no one I was hiding from except my own fears and Sheryl.

I couldn't hear much because of the blanket, but I could hear some of the negatives they threw at each other.

Sheryl to Carson - Mistake, Stupid, 'Remind me too much of your father,' 'You're the one who's being hot and cold,' 'Writing is a dead-end job anyways'

Sheryl to me - 'She can't even stand up and face the fact that she's being yelled at,' 'I don't even think she's all that pretty,' 'What about that other girl in your English class?,' 'You could've done way better than that,' 'What a coward!'

Carson to Sheryl - 'Worst mother!,' 'Never were there for me,' 'Ignoring my dreams,' 'Yelling isn't parenting,' 'I hate you'

All the words flung themselves into my mind and I found myself cowering deep into the down. I didn't even know if Carson knew that I was curled so close under the comforter, my free hand clinging to the bottom hem of his sweater as if it would stop them from yelling. They yelled until Sheryl's voice got hoarse and Carson gave up on swearing at her. I stayed cowered long after Sheryl left, and Carson peeked his head under the blanket furtively, "Hey, you down here?"

I didn't answer, but he slid himself under the covers too. I saw that his eyes were red rimmed, and I sighed to myself, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asks.

"That your mom is so shitty," I say with a shrug. I lean forward and try to place a kiss on his cheek, but he backs up at the approach. My head turns the side in question, but he just shakes his head sadly. I saw the fact that he had been crying from what his mom and the fact that she had been yelling at all. I didn't quite know what to say, as anything I could think of didn't seem right. I settled to say, "Do you want to talk about it?" My voice sounded tinny-as if the words didn't want to come out at all.

He shakes his head, "Not right now. Not while it's really fresh to me. Can we just lay here under the covers for awhile?" I nodded to him, and he smiled gratefully, the corners of his mouth barely plucking up, and then he pulled me so impossibly close. I knew it was because he needed the touch of me, the feeling that I was someone there, but not there to hurt him. I was only there to love him. I hoped that he would be okay someday. Someday.

After a few moments of just him laying there, wrapped close to me, I noticed the fact that he was crying into my shoulder. I had never seen him cry in all my time of knowing him, and, as far as I knew, I doubt that he would've cried anyways. He has too hard of a shell to cry openly, and, yet, here he was. Carson liked to make himself appear tough, and often things just rolled off his back with his yells of various swears. But it's hard to hear those words from your mother. Your mother is supposed to nurture and love you, not scream obscenities at you until you cry. I rubbed circles in his back while he wept, and I cooed things into his ear. Eventually my cooing went from a variety of phrases to just me saying, "Shhh. I love you. I love you." Carson could do nothing but calm down his crying and curl close to me, warming himself and letting me card my hands in his hair. When he was okay, about an hour had passed, and Sheryl was passed out on the couch. I drove him and myself home, regardless of the fact that my license was at home. I was doing it illegally, but I knew he just wanted to lay somewhere where he wouldn't be scared, which was my own room.

I pulled him up the stairs, waving quickly to my parents, who looked relieved that I was home now, then gently guided him to my bed. We laid together, and now was the only time when he let me press kisses to his face, finally settling a long one against his lips. I let him kiss me wherever he needed to, and I kissed him when I could. I knew that in this bed… in this house… was the only place where he would feel comfortable and safe now. His mother poisoned his childhood and his memories and recollections of his past, and I didn't want him to have any sour memories of my home. Just as before, we laid for ages, and he finally settled himself into a stupor of comfort, being okay just for the time being. I decided to confront the sore subject, "You never told me your mom was abusive like that."

His eyes flutter half open, and he looks at me through his lashes, "It never came up. It's weird to just come out and say, 'Hey, guess what? My mom's verbally abusive and hated me the day I was born.'."

"Mmm," I say in assent. "But… if she gets too hard on you, don't hesitate to come here. My parents love you, so you'll be okay here." He nods, and I run my hands through his hair one more time, before saying, "What do you want to do now?"

"I want to go dress shopping with you," Carson replies with a smile. "I want to see you in a big poofy princess dress, but I don't want you to buy it. We both know that cramps your style." I laughed, and then started to sit up. He followed. We both drove to the mall then, and started into the first store. I found a huge, puffy, blue princess dress, and grabbed it off the rack. Then, Carson and I went up and down racks picking dresses in my size and style. I vowed to try on a poofy princess dress from every single store that we went to, regardless of the fact that I wouldn't buy it. He took greater and greater joy each and every time I tried one of the princess dresses on, and I actually found one that was poofy, but not so princessy that it was long and hard to walk in. It was knee-length, pale pastel and baby-blue, a semi-large bow on the back, and it was the kind of dress you needed to tie up with help from someone else. Since no clerk was around, I asked Carson to.

I pulled it up and over my shoulders and chest, then stepped out, holding it over myself, "Hey, can you tie this up?" He nodded, averting his eyes from anywhere other than the corset he was lacing together. After he finishes lacing it, I turn around, and his eyes light up.

"Wow."

"Wow what?" I ask.

"I like this dress best," he says. I blush. He laughs, "No, really, I mean it. You look really amazing in this one. You're glowing. I think you look really gorgeous." I look down at my shoes, which didn't match the dress at all, but I still found myself really fond of the dress. I glanced at the price tag, and found it on sale for a really manageable price. I asked him then to unlace my dress, then I pulled it off, and carried it to the register. After buying it, I grinned and we drove to a shoe store for me to buy some shoes. After that, Carson mumbled something about buying a tie, so we hurried off to a tie store for him to buy one. He came out with a small box, and he stuck it in the glove compartment of his car. We drove back to my house just in time for dinner, which, of course my parents prepared for both of us, not just for me. There was plenty of food for the four of us, and Carson was polite and kind, saying how delicious everything was-even the burnt ends of the chicken-and asking how my parents' days were.

I knew my parents loved the fact that Carson was asking about them. After dinner, my dad took us both into the living room. He sat in the big armchair, and Carson and I sat on the loveseat together. My dad clicked off the TV, and then sighed, "I wanted to talk to you two." Carson takes my hand in his now. "I want you both to know that I'm real happy that you two are together. Carson, you make my daughter really happy. You do. And I can tell she makes you happy. I haven't seen something like this since I met her mom. Just keep in mind there's plenty of time for stuff like this to happen. You've got time to have sex and get married and stuff. Just focus on the loving right now. The touching and the feeling and getting closer to one another, both physically and mentally."

Carson nods earnestly, and cuts in, "Sir, if I may?" My dad nods. "I really love your daughter. I want her to be happy. I want to make her feel so happy that she'll forget the terrors of her past. I don't want her to be hurt. I don't ever want to see her sad. She makes me so happy. She's literally the light of my life, and I'm so grateful that you are okay with me dating her. She knows that she means the world to me, and that I couldn't imagine my life without her." My father nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. With these words said, my dad turns to me, expecting me to say something.

"Everything he said was true, Dad. He makes me so happy. There's not a day that I can't smile from him. He makes me feel wanted and like I belong and he inspires me so much. He cheers me on to write. Carson's seriously one of the best people I've ever met in my entire short life span. I really love him so much," I say. My dad smiles again, and then he stands.

"You both can go now," my dad says. "Do whatever it is you do." We followed his command, and then headed upstairs to my room. I found Carson's journalism book stuck in my shelf, and I opened it to the bookmarked page where we had left off. We each then took turns reading it to each other, at first to read it in complete seriousness, then reading it in silly voices to make each other laugh. After finishing another section of the book, he put it back on my shelf, and flopped into my bed, where I was already laying. He pressed a kiss behind the back of my ear, and then I turned and placed one on his cheek in return.

Now, I'd like to say we made out, but we didn't. We did the same thing that we had the past few nights. We laid close to each other, cuddling and snuggling, and kissing each other sweetly. I can't say it was bad that we were kissing each other so chastely, but I felt somewhat of a need to kiss him like that. I wanted to kiss him in that heated passion, just to see what he would do. I cleared my throat, "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Like, you can tell what kind of person someone is by how they kiss someone, and you've kissed me a fair few times, so I would think you'd be able to tell…."

"Oh! Well…," he licks his lips from our last kiss, "I think you're a great kisser. Especially since you've never done it before dating me. I mean, you and I haven't really kissed more advanced than just chaste ones, but I'm quite fond of those."

"Do you think we'll ever get past the chaste ones?" I ask, my voice small and quiet, like a child asking if they can stay up an hour later than bedtime.

"I think so. We will eventually. But, like your dad said, we should take our time. Rushed relationships rarely last," Carson says wisely. I dip my chin in assent, and lay my head back on his chest. He runs a hand through my hair, "It's almost eleven. Are you tired yet?" I shook my head. "Hmm," he thinks. "How about we go sit on the porch? We can watch the stars for a little while. Until your parents nag us, that is." After these words, a small smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth at the mention of my parents. I mirrored this face for the very same reason.

"Okay." So off we went to the porch, hand in hand. We sat down on the bench-swing we had, and the two of us watch the sky for a long time. I notice a shooting star, "Look!"

He glances up, "Make a wish." I close my eyes, and make a wish. Of course, a wish will never come true if you tell someone about it. Afterwards, I told him to make a wish. He then said, "I don't need to."

I looked at him for a moment, questioning him. He grins, "All my dreams came true when I met you." I slapped his shoulder, and he laughs, with a squeak in his voice, "It's true!"

"Suuuuuure," I say with a chuckle, and take his hand, "I'm getting tired. Let's go to sleep."

"Okay," he agrees, and I tug him inside the door, up the stairs, and into my room. Then, we curl up on my bed, and sleep.


	9. Chapter 8

The next morning, I awoke, and he was gone. My bed felt oddly empty without him there, especially since a twin bed is tight for two people. I sat in my bed, staring out the window for a minute, before I saw my desk, and the note that was on it.

_I went home._

_Didn't wanna bother your family anymore_

_Text me or call me when you get up._

_Love you._

_C x_

My heart fluttered towards the end. I reached over to call him on my phone and I left it on speaker as I got dressed. He picked up, "Hello?"

"Hey, love! It's me," I said back.

"I guess you're awake."

"Barely," I laugh. I heard him smile, and I set my phone on my desk as I looked through my closet for something to wear that day. My eyes fell on the dress I'd bought yesterday, and I smiled to myself at this. Then, I grabbed a blue dress from my closet, and set it on my bed while pulling off my shirt. Carson rambled on about his morning while I put on the sundress. I recalled that last night in the wee hours of the night, Carson had mentioned that we could take a day off today, not doing anything wild, and letting each other to take a nap, but I had another idea. I cut him off, "Hey, Carson?"

"Mhmmm?" he drawls into the phone.

"Do you want to have a picnic for lunch today?" I ask. "We can each go home our separate ways after."

"Okay! Sounds fun!" I could hear his smile in his voice. "I'll see you at the park at noon?"

"Yep. See you then." I reply, and hear the click of the phone hanging up. I then adjusted my dress, checking the time. It was eleven now, so I certainly didn't need to put on my shoes or leave yet. I would leave at 11:45, giving me enough time to talk down to Railroad again. I decided to turn up my music and dance and sing around my room. I realized then that it was Sunday. The dance was next Friday. I had less than a week until I'd be dancing at winter dance with him. This thought made me anxious, but also equally excited. I decided to do something really sappy at this time between. While I waited for noon, I got onto my laptop and made a new CD for me to share with Carson. I pulled a disc from the stack I had, and pushed it into the disc drive. I waited for iTunes to pop up, then arranged my playlist.

_1. Us - Regina Spektor_

_2. Reasons to Love You - Meiko_

_3. The Gambler - fun._

_4. Stuck on You - Meiko_

_5. Naked as We Came - Iron & Wine_

_6. Leave the Lights On - Meiko_

_7. In These Arms - The Swell Season_

_8. Thinking Too Much - Meiko_

_9. Such Great Heights - The Postal Service_

_10. I'm Not Sorry - Meiko_

_11. Miracle - Paramore_

_12. I'm In Love - Meiko_

_13. When the Doors Close - Meiko_

_(Now you should start listening to 'Us'! -A/N)_

After arranging the playlist, I burned it onto the CD, and pulled over a package of colored Sharpies. I began decorating, covering the front with a tree that had hearts for leaves, with colorful orange and red and pink swirls surrounding it. Under the tree, enveloped in the roots, was the word 'Us,' in a calligraphic font. I looked at it after it was done, and smiled. I shoved it into a case, and put it into my purse, before starting down to the park. The day was warm, bright for the middle of winter, but still cooler than usual. When I reached Railroad, I saw Carson there. He was wearing a blue hoodie today, with some jeans and his same sneakers. I noticed he was wearing his glasses this time. When I asked him why, he said because he was too tired to put in his contacts.

I watched as he laid a blanket onto the ground, gesturing to it for me to sit while he got our lunch out. I found it very sweet of him to do this. While he busied himself with the picnic and plates, I reached into my purse and pulled out the CD. Without a word, I set it in front of him, offering a smile as he glanced over at it. "Another CD?" he asks. I nod. "This one's about us?" I nod again. "That's adorable. I'll listen to it when I get home…." Then, he gets an idea, "What if I called you while I listened! You could comment and I could comment while the CD is playing."

I smiled, "What a good idea. Sounds great." He grins in thanks, then hands me half of the sandwich he'd packed. I nibbled on it, suddenly feeling not very hungry and very self-conscious. It was a bad idea to go to Railroad on a Sunday, as there were a number of couples out on picnics, even in winter, just like us. I looked at them, and suddenly I found myself able to see each of those girls with him, and each time he would be happier and happier. I saw the girl from English, and that's the one that hurt the most. I knew that he could really have any single girl that he wanted with a bat of his eyelashes. I looked at my shoes now, ignoring the fact that I had the sandwich held limply in my hands, and then pretended that I couldn't hear him asking me why I wasn't eating.

Then, it clicked for him. He gently took the sandwich from my hand, and then took my hands in his. Carson pleaded for me to look at him, and I sighed. It went on like this for a long time; him pleading again and again for me to look up, and me disregarding it. I didn't want to look at him… to see the hurt in his eyes. I never ever wanted to see him hurt, yet it still happened. Finally, I looked up, and he squeezed my hands tighter, "Why aren't you eating?"

"I'm scared I'm not what you need."

"What I need? What's that mean?" Carson asks. His voice is small, almost above a whisper.

"Thousands upon thousands of prettier, more beautiful…," I broke off for a minute, "thinner girls than me. And still, why pick me?"

He lets go of one of my hands now, and runs a hand through my hair, "Because I really really do love you. You're all I could want. Plus, those girls don't feel quite the same way you do. You and I have this… you know… the thing. We have that. No one else has that with me-or even at all-and losing that just for a physical thing is pointless. Your heart and your mind are so wonderfully beautiful, and your physical features are icing on the cake. I wouldn't want this any other way."

I shake my head, pulling my hand from his, "Don't you get it? You could literally get any girl if you wanted to-that is, with a bit more kindness or a lot more hatred of people-, but you're still here! There's no point in it! You're going to get bored and stop pitying me and then you'll leave! Just like every single other person in my life. It's what happens when I think I can trust people! And, for another-." My words were cut off by his lips pressed warmly to my own. Carson kept himself there for quite some time, before he pulled away. I stared into his eyes for a long time, and he looked back. They were washed over with something that I'd seen only twice before: when we had written at his house all those months ago, and when we had gone dress shopping and he saw me in the dress I had bought. I hadn't realized it, but I was crying harder than I'd ever cried before.

I started wiping angrily at my tears, curling my knees up to my chin. I stared off at the trees that splattered over the horizon and the rushing cars that zoomed down Birch Avenue, which was right next to Railroad. I felt him take my hands again, insisting for me to look at him. I let out a breath and it washed over me, and I closed my eyes.

"I love you so much," he tells me.

"I do too," I replied.

"Let's eat our lunch and then we should go home."

"Can we cuddle instead? I'm not hungry," I say.

"You're going to eat. I don't want you falling into bad habits again." I gave in, and ate half of the sandwich that he prepared, and a few chips from the bag. He smiles at me, "I'm proud of you."

"You shouldn't be."

"But I am," he insists. "Now we're gonna go to your house and cuddle."

"Okay."

I hopped into the passenger seat of Carson's car, and he started driving. We drove to my house and hurried upstairs. Carson flopped onto the bed first, and I pulled the CD out from the picnic basket. I pushed it into the CD changer of my speakers, and turned the sound up loud enough that it would drown out everything else, but not annoy anyone. The song started, and I slid next to him in the bed. He carefully pulled the cover over our bodies, and wrapped an arm around my waist, his palm resting in the small of my back.

_They made a statue of us, and put it on a mountaintop. Now tourists come and stare at us. Blow bubbles with their gum, take photographs, have fun, have fun. They'll name a city after us, and later say it's all our fault. Then they'll give us a talking to, then they'll give us a talking to, 'cause they've got years of experience. We're living in a den of thieves, and it's contagious._

_We wear our scarves just like a noose, but not 'cause we want eternal sleep. And though our parts are slightly used, new ones are slave labor you can keep. We're living in a den of thieves, rummaging for answers in the pages. We're living in a den of thieves and it's contagious._

We looked the other up and down, just taking each other in. I realized that Carson had never even seen my body past my clothes. He had never seen anything at all. "You've never seen me without clothes," I blurt.

"Remember, your dad said no sex yet," Carson says, his voice held out in a drawl from his contentment of laying there.

"No, I don't mean like… for sex…. I mean like, you've never even seen my stomach or anything like that. I haven't seen that either from you."

"Do you want to see me that way?" he asks.

"I do only if you want to see me that way."

"I do too."

_They made a statue of us, they made a statue of us, the tourists come and stare at us, the sculptor's marble sends regards. They made a statue of us, they made a statue of us, our noses have begun to rust._

I sat up, my fingers brushing the bottom hem of my dress. I watched his pupils dilate again, and he breathes out, "Are you sure?" I nod to myself, then again, more forcefully, to him. I then pulled my dress up, over my head, and tossed it gently to the side of my bed. His eyes run over my body again, and he lets out a heavy breath, "I told you. You're still gorgeous."

My face flushes, the blush creeping around my neck and settling around my collar bones. He puts on a small smile at this, and leans forward. He presses two kisses to each of the edges of my collar bones, and then pulls away. I look at him expectantly. Knowing it was his turn now, Carson looks up, and pulls at the bottom of his hoodie. He looked a little worried for a moment, but he swallowed the fear as he stripped it off without a word. I let out a breath I wasn't consciously holding in, and he reaches down to the button on his jeans. I closed my eyes, and let him do it while I wasn't watching. I hear his voice, quiet in the silence, "You can look now."

I open my eyes slowly, my eyes adjusting to the light, and then I looked at him. His body wasn't extremely muscled and fit, but he definitely had some muscles and I could tell he worked out if he had the chance to. I watched him, and then slid next to him. Our bodies fit even closer together this time, and I felt tingling all over my skin at the feeling.

_And it's contagious. And it's contagious. And it's contagious._

The song switched.

_Give me a reason to fall in love, take my hand and let's dance. Give me a reason to make me smile, cause I think I forgot how. I wanna fall asleep with you tonight. I wanna know that I am safe when you hold me tight. I wanna feel how I wanna feel forever. Girls need attention and boys need us, so let's make everybody glad. They have each other in each other's arms, so let's make everybody glad. I want you. I want you._

_I wanna dream away with you tonight, we can go oh oh anywhere you would like. I wanna feel how I wanna feel forever._

I found his eyes fluttering shut in front of my own, and I pressed a doting kiss to his nose, long and sugary sweet, and then he surprised me by lifting his face up and pressing his mouth to mine. The kiss remained as sugary sweet as mine, and we sat, adoring each other completely. I felt calm and safe in his arms, and, with his hands wrapped so tightly around my waist, I felt small, but not childishly small, or even anorexically small; I felt the kind of small that the someone feels because the other person's heart is so big. Another song change came.

_Slow down, we've got time left to be lazy. All the kids have bloomed from babies into flowers in our eyes. We've got fifty good years left to spend out in the garden. I don't care to be your pardon, we should live… until we die. We were barely eighteen when we crossed collective hearts. It was cold, but it got warm when you barely crossed my eye. And then you turned, put out your hand and you asked me to dance. I knew nothing of romance but it was love at second sight._

_I swear when I grow up I won't just buy you a rose, I will buy the flower shop and you will never be lonely. For even if the sun stops waking up over the fields I will not leave I will not leave 'til its our time. So just take my hand and know that I will never leave your side. It was the winter of '86, all the fields had frozen over, so we moved to Arizona to save our only son. And now he's turned into a man, though he thinks just like his mother, he believes we're all just lovers, he sees hope in everyone. And even though she moved away, we always get calls from our daughter. She has eyes just like her father's, they are blue when skies are gray. And just like him she never stops, never takes the day for granted, works for everything that's handed to her, never once complained._

_You think that I nearly lost you when the doctors tried to take you away, but like the night you took my hand beside the fire thirty years ago, to this day, you swore you'd be here till we decide that it's our time, but it's not time, you never quit in all your life. So just take my hand and know that I will never leave your side, you're the love of my life, you know that I will never leave your side. You come home from work, and you kiss me on the eye. You curse the dogs, you say that I should never feed them what is ours, And so we move out to the garden, look at everything we've grown, and the kids are coming home so I'll set the table; you can make the fire._

We laid there. The birds chirped and the wind blew. The sun splashing through the windowpanes sent shadows dancing on our faces while we lay there. His fingers came loose from their own clasping behind my back, and he took mine in his, our fingers entwined and matching together like pieces to a puzzle. The blue of his eyes met the brown of mine, and they glistened, almost animatedly, when he looked at me longer.

_I must confess, when I wear this dress: I feel like dancing the whole night with you. And When I do, do, do, do, do, do, I feel so happy. I'm stuck on you. Cuz you are the only one I could see havin' fun with. Not just for tonight, but for the rest of my life. You are the one I could never be done with. I want you tonight, and for the rest of my life. You are so dreamy, feel like I'm in the movies, I feel so happy. I'm stuck on you are the only one I could see havin' fun with. Not just for tonight, but for the rest of my life. You are the one I could never be done with. I want you tonight, and for the rest of my life. I'm stuck on you. You. Cuz you are the only one I could see havin' fun with. Not just for tonight, but for the rest of my life. You are the one I could never be done with. I want you tonight, and for the rest of my life._

Our eyes close, and us being wrapped around each other so close said all the words that the songs I put and the ones we already said didn't. Track 5 came on next.

_She says, "Wake up, it's no use pretending." I'll keep stealing, breathing her. Birds are leaving over autumn's ending. One of us will die inside these arms. Eyes wide open, naked as we came. One will spread our ashes 'round the yard. She says, "If I leave before you, darling, don't you waste me in the ground." I lay smiling like our sleeping children. One of us will die inside these arms. Eyes wide open, naked as we came. One will spread our ashes 'round the yard._

Track 6 came, and Carson looked a little sad at the thoughts of one of us dying before the other and having to spread our ashes everywhere. I hope he wasn't taking everything literally.

_We're in the dark, it's getting late. I really should go, he's waiting for me We both know it's not what it seems; We both know what's between the sheets. I know that it's a secret, and that I gotta keep. But I want the lights on, yeah, I want the lights on. And I don't want to run away anymore. Leave the lights on, leave the lights on._

_What would they say? What would they do? Would it be trouble if they knew? I'm trying hard to make you see all that you are is all that I need. I know that it's a secret, and that I gotta keep. But I want the lights on, yeah, I want the lights on. And I don't want to run away anymore. Leave the lights on, leave the lights on. Let it out. Let it out. Let it out. Let it out. I know that it's a secret, and that I gotta keep. But I want the lights on, yeah, I want the lights on. And I don't want to run away anymore. Leave the lights on, leave the lights on. I know that it's a secret, and that I gotta keep. But I want the lights on, yeah, I want the lights on. And I don't want to run away anymore. Leave the lights on, leave the lights on._

Track 7 was a song that reminded me of my pasts, and how Carson wants me to overcome it. He made me feel safe in his arms, and now, I feel like I can take on the world.

_Use the truth as a weapon to beat up all your friends. Every chink in the armor an excuse to cause offense. And the boys from the hallway, calling out your name. And true love will find them in the end. You were restless. I was somewhere less secure. So I went running to the road. And so now there's a long list of places I was. I quit my rambling and came home. 'Cause maybe I was born to hold you in these arms. Maybe I was born to hold you in these arms._

_Use your saints and your mantra and your things to keep you calm. If you stay with that asshole, he's gonna do you harm. There's a voice singing loudly on the radio just for you. And good fortune will find him in the end. 'Cause maybe I was born to hold you in these arms. Maybe I was born to hold you in these arms. 'Cause maybe I was born to hold you in these arms. Maybe I was born to hold you in these arms._

Track 8 reminded me of the times I would lay in bed for night after night thinking the same old things…

_I think I'm thinking too much. Is this what happens when you're falling in love? I know I should let it be. This isn't how I am usually. But I'm losing sleep going over possibilities. I'm scared that I'm not what you need. I think I'm thinking too much. So long I've been waiting, for something to turn out right. Is it so wrong to be this easy? I never thought that I could be without a fight. Ooh, I'm in love with you. What am I to do? I think I'm thinking too much. Is this what happens when you're falling in love? I know I should let it be. This isn't how I am usually. But I'm losing sleep going over possibilities. I'm scared that I'm not what you need. I think I'm thinking too much. It's so good to be this happy, I should be dreaming every night. But instead, I toss and turn in my bed, I'm restless every night. I think I'm thinking too much. Is this what happens when you're falling in love? I know I should let it be. This isn't how I am usually. But I'm losing sleep going over possibilities. I'm scared that I'm not what you need. I think I'm thinking too much._

_I think I'm thinking too much. Is this what happens when you're falling in love? I know I should let it be. This isn't how I am usually. But I'm losing sleep going over possibilities. I'm scared that I'm not what you need. I think I'm thinking too much._

Track 9 shows how we fit together like puzzle pieces, and our hands interlace perfectly.

_I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned. And I have to speculate that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes, like puzzle pieces from the clay. And true, it may seem like a stretch. But its thoughts like this that catch my troubled head when you're away. When I am missing you to death._

Track 10 shows how much I love him and how I'm willing to do whatever he wants me to.

_When I'm laying down in bed, I write you letters in my head of all the things I haven't said to you. I'll be lover. I'll be your wife. I'm in the kitchen baking pies. I wanna have that kind of that life with you._

Carson looks at me with a curious glance as the song continues, and his eyebrows raise when the lyrics mention sex. I shrug and whisper, "I'm not sorry." He laughs.

_I hope it won't scare you away, I wanna have your kids someday. They'd all have dimples on their face like you. And when you're old or bald or grey, I'm gonna love your wrinkly face. Nobody else could love you like I do. When you get home at night, I'll have your crown and sprite. I'm not sorry for saying that I want you. For waiting naked in my bed all day. And I'm not sorry for saying that I need you, to come and make a woman out of me. I'm not sorry._

Track 11 proves that he and I want to be here for each other. This one was also a song that was him helping me over my past.

_I'm not going, cause I've been waiting for a miracle. And I'm not leaving, I won't let you, let you give up on a miracle when it might save you. It's not faith if you use your eyes. Oh why. We'll get it right this time. Let's leave this all behind. Oh why. We'll get it right this time. It's not faith if you're using your eyes. Oh why. I've gone for too long living like I'm not alive, so I'm going to start over tonight beginning with you and I. I don't want to run from anything uncomfortable, I just want, no, I just need this pain to end right here._

Track 12 was me finally finding that I was able to love and be loved.

_Today I found a feeling I thought I lost a long time ago. Today he's got me reeling from a meeting of our souls. Today he said he loved me and I know I love him just the same. Today, feeling good is easy. I never thought I could be this way again. La la la, my heart keeps singing la la la, when he's around. I'm in love._

Track 13. The last track on the disc. The track that showed that he makes me feel like a new person, and that anything anyone says, especially what shitty Sheryl said, means nothing to our relationship.

_All I do is think of you, and how you make me feel brand new. Like a pair of shoes that fit my feet just right, I wanna wear you out tonight. And they say you're not for me, but they don't know you like I do. They say we'll never make it, but they don't know how it goes when the doors close. All I can do is dream of how we can leave it all behind. Paris, France or to the moon, we'll leave it all behind._

I think the CD told him what I couldn't. He groaned as I got up to take out the disc before my CD changer started clicking annoyingly trying to change to another disc, which I didn't have in there. I smiled to myself as he spoke in a childish voice, "Come baaaaack."

"I will, I promise. I wanna put this away."

"I'm gonna put on my clothes again. You should too."

"Okay," I agree. I slid the disc into the case, then pulled my dress up onto my body. We laid back in bed together, and fell asleep. We had been cuddling for a large amount of hours, so we were both tired. I heard my father come in to check on us, and I heard him call my mom, "Honey, look at them." My mom laughs a little. "They look so happy together."

I then heard the door click shut, and they both walk into their room together. I sat up, and felt Carson's arm wrapped tightly around my stomach. When I sat up, he shifted and his eyes fluttered open, "What's up?" His voice was a drawl again, as it was whenever he woke up. It was also husky and, still, that adorable lilt that he always has.

"It's like…," I glance at the clock, "Midnight. Do you wanna go out on a drive?"

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? We have school tomorrow," Carson says.

To my own surprise-as well as his own-, I blurt, "Fuck school. Let's go." With that, I grabbed his hand and two hoodies from the floor. We piled into his car, and I threw a hoodie at him, taking the other one and pulling it up over my head. I recalled the familiar softness of the elbows, and realized this was one of Carson's hoodies. I also realized that I had-thank God-grabbed the hoodie Carson had brought to give to him. I yawned, and Carson raised his eyebrows.

"You sure you aren't too tired?" he asks.

"Of course not," I say. "I'm never fucking tired." I never realized how much I swore when I was tired until then. I then told him to drive down the freeway again, just because I knew that was somewhere familiar. I blasted up the radio, and stood up again, screaming at the top of my lungs and laughing so hard that my lungs began to hurt. With a sudden flash of light, I saw another car on the freeway. I could do two things: I could sit back down, or I could stay standing. I started sitting down, and then the lights started flashing. I swore to myself. Carson looks at me desperately for some sort of explanation. We pulled over, and the policeman came after us.

"You two kids do realize its past curfew for teenagers?" the policeman asks.

I start to open my mouth, but Carson slaps his hand over my mouth, "Sorry, officer. The clock in my car is-well, nonexistent. We also forgot our phones at home. We'll hurry home really soon."

"Soon better be now. Do you have a license, young man? You look like you're fifteen."

"Sixteen," Carson corrects politely, pulling his wallet out to show his license. The man inspects it for what felt like hours. Carson still kept his hand clapped over my mouth and I was getting tired of it being there. I felt tempted to bite one of his fingers, but I didn't. I didn't want to make Carson swear in front of the officer. Carson smiles kindly and politely at the officer and thanks him when he hands back the wallet.

"You both check out fine. He's legal to drive and I'm assuming you're legal enough too." I cringed to myself. I was fifteen with a permit, but I was going to be sixteen relatively soon. "And, since you both are going to head back home now, I'll leave you two alone. Now get back to your mother. She's probably worried sick about her two kids."

Carson's hand dropped and I couldn't contain myself from correcting the officer, "We aren't siblings."

"Oh?" the officer asks, stopping and starting back to the car.

"Damnit, Riley," Carson swears. The word sends a pang in my chest that felt negative and sad.

"Yeah. We're not siblings."

"You two dating then?" he asks.

"Yep."

"You two make a nice couple," the officer says. Finally, he walks off. Then, he drives away. Carson starts driving to turn around on the freeway.

"Why in the name of hell did you think to stop the officer to talk to him about how we're dating?" Carson says angrily.

"I couldn't contain myself! I'm sorry!"

"I can't believe it. He could have given me a ticket, Riley!"

"I'm sorry, okay? I can't keep apologizing!"

"I don't think you are sorry! You keep doing shit like this and I don't want to keep being held responsible for it!"

"This is the first fucking time I've done something like this, Carson!"

He slams the brakes on his car, screeching to a stop to glare at me, "Riley! Listen to me! You can't keep acting like a child! You need to fucking grow up! Life is hard! Life's a bitch! You need to quit pretending you're perfectly innocent all the time! Fess up! Own up to your damn mistakes!" I started crying, and got out of the car. The asphalt was rough and hurt my bare feet, and he glared at me harder, "You need to stop acting like this. You're sixteen."

"Go," I say.

"What?" he asks.

"Go. Away." He looked confused. "Drive. Go home. I'm going to sleep by myself. Maybe this'll straighten itself out tomorrow. I don't want you at my house right now. I don't want those poisonous words under my roof or in my room. I'll bring you your stuff in Writers' Club tomorrow." He looks at me, completely flabbergasted. I found myself screaming at him now. "GO! GO AWAY! DON'T JUST SIT THERE AND MAKE ME REGRET AND FEEL BAD ABOUT THIS!"

He pressed the gas and drove away. I watched the taillights go. The officer swung back around and pulled over, "Where's your boyfriend?"

"Gone."

"Why?"

"We fought. I told him to go."

"Do you need a ride home?" the officer asks kindly.

"Yes, please."

"Hop in. I'm Officer Fowler."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

When I sat in his car, I looked at all of the things scattered among the dashboard, all policeman things. He drove well, especially for late at night, even after a long shift of policing the highways and freeways around Clover. "Officer Fowler?"

"Yes?"

"Were you going to give Carson a ticket?" I ask, my voice small.

He laughs, "Is Carson your boyfriend?" I nod. "I wasn't going to. Why?"

"That's what we fought about." I didn't know why I was telling this random policeman about my relationship with Carson, but I did. "I mean, he and I are so close. We've fallen in love with each other. We both love the same things and we love each other. I don't know why he would fight with me over a little thing like a ticket."

"Even the best relationships have their fights. I fought with Kristen yesterday over whether the pot roast was done or not." I assumed Kristen was his wife. "But this morning, she still gave me my coffee and my lunch. She still loves me." I found his words really truthful, and they made me feel better. He drove me to my house, then stopped. "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yes, sir."

"Please, call me Kory," Officer Fowler insists.

"Okay. See you around, Kory." Officer Fowler smiles one more time, then drives off. I watch his taillights streak past too. Then, I go upstairs. I find a note on my bed.

_I know you told me to go._

_But I couldn't._

_I did leave after you didn't come right back home._

_I took my stuff so you wouldn't have to worry._

_And I'm sorry._

_I love you._

_C_

I set the note on my desk with the one from the other morning. I sighed then, pulling off my dress and hoodie, then putting the hoodie back on with a pair of shorts. It still smelled like Carson, which lulled me to sleep easily. Because of the warmth of the hoodie, I found myself thinking that he was still there, his arms wrapped closely around me.

When I woke up the next morning, I was sweating nervously. I had had a dream where last night, we had gotten into a car crash and Carson had died. I shook my head, hoping that it was just a dream. I got up, deciding to just change from shorts to pants and pull on my tennis shoes. I ate a quick breakfast, then walked to school. Following habit, I walked into the journalism classroom. Carson was sat at the desk, sleeping. Judging by what he was wearing, he didn't even go home. He just came here and slept here. When he heard the door shut, his eyes flew open and he stood, brushing his hands on his hoodie for some unknown reason. I looked into his blue eyes for a long time. They had pink around the edges, which was evidence he had been crying, and the color was a stony gray that was darker than I'd ever seen them be.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asks. I didn't answer him, just slid my bag off my shoulder and onto the floor. I looked up at the clock. 7:15. School started in 45 minutes. That was time enough. Without a word, his eyes pleading, he stepped closer to me. I stood straight again, my back leaning against the edge of the desk. I slid myself up to sit on top of it. He stepped even closer, daring a few more steps, but there was still almost half the room between us.

"Come here," I say. He obeys. "I was mad at you. But Kory told me something that made me get over it." When his eyebrows knit in confusion over who Kory was, I corrected myself, "Officer Fowler. The guy who pulled us over." His face goes back to his neutral face. "I was, as I said. I'm not anymore. Even the best relationships fight. It's okay." He didn't look convinced. "Come here. Closer." Now, Carsons nose was brushing close with my own, and our eyes were locked. "I'm not mad," I breathed against his lips. I felt his hands curve around my back and he pressed his mouth to my own. We kissed for a long time before my cheeks felt hot and I pulled away.

I checked the clock again. 7:20. He breathes out, "I was so scared you were mad at me. But I couldn't bear to go back home. My mom would have heard and laughed."

"I know," I say.

He sits next to me on the desk.

I stare at the whiteboard. Suddenly I get a weird idea that might repair our tension and pass the time. I stand up, and walk to the whiteboard, grabbing the marker. I write, in big letters, a word on each of the boards. CARSON and RILEY. I hand him a marker. "Write every single word that comes to mind for each of these. I'll start on my side and you on yours." He nods. I start writing in my oddly written script. He starts writing in his terrible scrawling writing. We both step back and read.

_RILEY: Confused, weird, awkward, not good enough, lost, worried, anxious, anxiety, depression, dark, pale, baleful, bellicose, guileless, pendulous_

_CARSON: Headstrong, determined, skilled, cunning, witty, cocky, blue, contumacious, recalcitant, zealous, uxorious_

We then each switched sides, writing for each other now.

_RILEY: Confused, weird, awkward, not good enough, lost, worried, anxious, anxiety, depression, dark, pale, baleful, bellicose, guileless, pendulous;_ **_munificent, inveterate; insidious, fastidious, equanimous, amatory, adroit, beautiful, perfect, lovely, smart, fantastic, adaptable, adventurous, affable, affectionate, agreeable, ambitious, amiable, amicable, amusing, brave, bright, broad-minded_**

_CARSON: Headstrong, determined, skilled, cunning, witty, cocky, blue, contumacious, recalcitant, zealous, uxorious;_ **_sagacious, kind, smart, interesting, turgid, sartorial, quiescent, inveterate, intransigent, equanimous, cerulean, adroit_**

We each stepped back again, and read what we wrote. I grinned at his writing of amatory. He laughed at turgid. Then we each read further. I noticed that all of the negative words I had written about myself were crossed out. I looked over at him, and found him looking back at me. I walked closer and pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks and then another to his mouth before saying, "We should get to class."

"Okay," he says. I scoop up my bag, and he grabs his, tucking his laptop into his bag. He takes my hand, and then we step out of the room together. He locks the door and we start down the hallway.

"Oi! It's the two kids that run the paper! No one gives a shit for your paper anyways!" some kids yell.

"I don't give a shit about you!" Carson yells. I smile.

"Hey, Carson!" someone yells. He turns. "Your girlfriend's uglier than you!"

"Fuck off!" Carson yells at him.

"She can't even defend herself?"

That set me off, "Look. I can't help that you're adamant on being bilious and feckless. You're going to make everyone here very dilatory, so I would just shut your mouth and go."

This makes him laugh, "Does she even know any swear words? Using stupid fucking fancy words won't make me go."

"Fuck off, you self-righteous bastard. I don't want your shit in my life, and I don't want your terribly bad bitchy comments bothering my aura." When he was still standing there, I yelled, "Piss off!"

Carson looked shocked, "I didn't even know you could swear unless you were tired."

"Well, if someone gets my blood boiling, then hell breaks loose. Why, did you not like it?"

"No, no I loved it. I thought it was hot," Carson says. "I've never seen you mad, and I think it's really sexy. Even sexier than you just being your cute little self." I flushed, and he squeezed my hand before pulling me into English class. English class was fun because I got to keep making faces at Carson when the teacher wasn't looking. Each time the face was funnier, so he would have to bite the end of his pen not to laugh aloud. Next came math class. We were in different classes, he in Algebra 2 and me in Geometry, so we each bid our adieus for the time being and went to class. Next was History. We talked briefly about the history of the presidents, and the teacher talked for ages about each of them. When he talked about Kennedy's legacy as the 'king of Camelot,' the teacher said it like 'Came a lot.' I snorted and gestured a blowjob to Carson, who screeched with laughter. The teacher glared at me, but didn't mark anything against me.

In Spanish, I kept poking the back of Carson's head, and he kept giggling to himself. We both started laughing louder and louder until we were told to go to the office. We had had this treatment before, and had our fair share of detention, so we did what we did often when this happened: we stood in the hallway for a half hour. We kept talking about our antics and stuff that made us laugh. When the bell rang for the warning for advisory,we both walked into Spanish to get our stuff, solemn faces to fake being taught our lesson. The teacher seemed satisfied by our little show, and we both left, cracking up as we walked. We both went to advisory, and, under the desks, held hands, looking up pictures of progressively cuter things on Carson's laptop instead of working. He smiled, and leaned over, whispering in my ear, "After lunch, do you want to go out to the courtyard and cuddle for awhile?" I smiled and nodded.

We went to lunch next, each of us eating what we did and sharing with each other. Then, we hurried out to the courtyard, that was completely abandoned. He plopped himself at the base of the tree, and then opened his arms widely for me to sit. I sat next to him, curling myself next to him and tucking my nose into the crook of his neck. Carson still smelled like he did in Pacifica, like Red Bull, salty-sweet, and new books. I loved his scent more than anything. Without thinking, I blurted, "What do you think I smell like?"

He doesn't miss a beat, and leans down, sniffing by my neck. "I think you smell like amber. And...hmm, tea? Or is it coffee? And you smell a bit like chocolate and caramel. Why?"

"You smell like Red Bull. And salty-sweet. And new books."

He laughs, "Well, Red Bull makes sense. I only drink it when I need to finish the Chronicle, but it still must make me smell like it. The salty-sweet is probably my cologne. And new books is because of newspaper."

"I smell like amber because thats my perfume, tea because I drink it when I write. I don't know why I smell like chocolate and caramel, though."

"Maybe it's because you're so sweet," he says, flattering me. I giggle and blush, nuzzling closer to him. He rubs circles into my back, and then jumps suddenly, "I think that's the bell. Where's our next class?"

"B Hall. We've got time. We packed before."

"Good." I heard Carson breath out with relief, and then he bent down to kiss the top of my head, "I love you so much."

"I love YOU so much," I say back.

"No, no, I LOVE YOU so much."

"Don't get into this kind of argument with me, Carson Phillips!"

"Sorry, sweetie," he says with another laugh and a kiss. The kiss deepens, and I hear him make an 'mmmph' sound into the kiss. I press harder, and feel his lips part naturally. This startles me and I pull away. He gasps for a minute, whether for air or in shock, then looks at me, "What's up?"

"Just….startled."

"Do you not want to make out with me?"

"No, I do, I really do! I just… not here."

"At home, you mean?"

I nod.

"Okay," Carson smiles and presses a kiss to my forehead, pulling me up by my hands. We grab our bags and go to Biology. We sat next to each other in this class, so I kept kicking his chair to annoy him. He kept looking at me and glaring before laughing when he realized it was me. I would laugh too. Then, we'd do our worksheets together even though we weren't supposed to. Next was a free period. We both went to the library, sitting in one of the big chairs together, laying close, and sighing into kisses. No one was in the library, not even the librarian herself, shockingly, so we had to sign ourselves on the sheet by the door when we left. Near the end of the bell, I looked at the sheet.

_Claire Mathews_

_Scott Thomas_

_Carla Summers_

_Remy Baker_

_Janice Wise_

_Lydia Maniscalco_

_Emilio Lopez_

_Alex Bailey_

_Justin Walker_

_Vicki Jordan_

_Connor Bailey_

_Nicholas Forbes_

_Jamal Franklin_

_Daisy McGuire_

_Kirk Foster_

_Jessica Lanham_

_Carson Phillips_

_Riley Tishma_

Carson and I both glared at the recognition of people we knew. We both looked at our own names. I personally liked the look of the names together. Then, he took my hand, and we walked out of the library to head to our technology class. Today was learning about internet safety, which neither one of us cared about, so we sat near the back and played footsie. We also inspected each others' hands in the way that couples do, running my fingers around his and feeling his knuckles. It felt romantic and touchy-feely, but not in the disgustingly sappy kind of way. After that, we just sat there, holding hands and laying near each other, not listening to the teacher at all. Then, the final bell rang, and we both ran for the journalism classroom, laughing and holding hands. I felt so at home and happy for once in my life. I also felt so happy that he was happy and that he could make me this happy. We wrote for awhile for the Chronicle, then proceeded to go to my house. We listened to music, and then he asked if he could take me out to dinner. I agreed, excited that he wanted to take me out.

We went out an hour later to this little taqueria I had no idea existed in Clover. We enjoyed the only thing they made correctly-according to Carson-in the establishment, which was, of course, their tacos. I thought it was funny of him to ask to go out to dinner and then take me to a taco place, but yet it was so funnily him. It was something he would definitely do.

"Have you dated anyone before me?" Carson asks out of nowhere.

"Um," I think for a minute. "I had a boyfriend for like three months last year."

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"We were at summer camp for a week, and then we went our separate ways. I told him long distance never works and he promised that it would work. Then, three months later, he never talked to me. So I dumped him."

"More power to you," Carson praises.

"What about you?"

"Nope. You're my first girlfriend."

"I'm honored!" I say, mocking shock and offering a tiny princess wave to the crowd of cars stopped at the stoplight. Carson laughs before taking a drink of his soda. We watched the cars drive by, and I notice my parents car pull in. I suggest we leave, and Carson nods knowingly. We drive back to my house and lay together, just like the other nights. I knew someday my bed would be used for sex, but I also knew that tonight wasn't the night. We needed to feel each other out first. Figure out what we liked and what we didn't like. Where the insecurities lay, and where the confidence comes from. So, we just cuddle until we fall asleep. I'm almost always the first one asleep, but this time Carson falls asleep first. I felt him cuddle close to my side and sigh contentedly, his breath tumbling across my neck and sending goosebumps up my spine. I turned my face to press a kiss to his hair, and he smiled in his sleep. I began running my hand through his hair, and he leaned into the touch, almost as if the actions were begging me to continue. After a bit, my hand got tired, and I began to drift off into sleep.


	10. Chapter 9

When I woke up, there again was the sickening realization that it was Tuesday. I realized that Carson was still rolled over in my bed. I poked him, "Time to get up. It's nearly seven fifteen." Carson groans and stirs, getting up and grabbing some clothes from my closet that he had left here. We both hopped in his car and drove to school. He was mumbling to himself, and I sighed. We both drove finally, and then we got out, each gathering our books and going to our second hour. We sat in silence, occasionally glancing at each other furtively with little attempt to hide the fact that we did desperately want to be together and kissing and cuddling rather than sitting here.

Next was history again. The teacher began to ramble about the various torture methods and violent things of the medieval era, and suddenly there were graphic images of blood, needles, and scalpels in front of my eyes. I felt a heaving sensation to my chest, and I blinked rapidly. Carson glanced over at me and leaned over, "Are you okay?" I started shaking and immediately stood up and exited the room. Carson stands, starting towards the door and after me. The teacher stops him.

"Where do you think you're going, Mister Phillips?"

"I need to make sure Riley's okay."

"And why? Your history lesson is far more important."

"Nothing's more important to me than her." With these words said, the teacher rolls his eyes, and Carson steps out, rushing after me. The teacher, after Carson left, pulled out his agenda book and signed him out of the room, then doing the same to my own. The history teacher had dealt with my anxiety attacks before, so he knew what to do. Then, he continued on the lesson. Carson chased after me, catching my waist. I screamed and whipped around, slapping him hard. My cheeks were trailed with tears and I slid down the wall, crying harder than I thought I'd ever done before during an attack like this. He slides next to me and tries to take my hands in his, but I shake them away. Carson's eyes plead with me to talk, and I found myself shaking harder, then I gave in. I slid myself into his lap and he wrapped himself around me, rubbing my back and kissing my temple. I sobbed and shook, clinging to the front of his shirt as my face was tucked into the crook of his neck.

I heard him breathing, first with sharp, quick breaths, and then to the deeper, calmer breaths. This soothed me and helped me calm down. He kept rubbing circles into my back, kissing my temple and my hair and the sides of my face. Finally, when I stopped crying, he leaned away a bit, and asked, "Are you okay, now?"

I shrugged.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"Anxiety attack."

"Why?"

"Triggers."

"From what?"

"Sharp things."

"Needles?"

I gasped sharply.

"Scalpels?"

I hiccupped.

"Blood?"

I closed my eyes tightly, grabbing desperately for something to squeeze. He put his hand in mine and I squeezed tightly.

"Why do these things trigger you, love?" he asks. His voice was dripping with worry and concern. I didn't say anything, just pulled up the sleeves of my hoodie and turned my arms over. A quiet gasp escaped his lips and he ran his fingers over each and every little crack in my skin from razors and scissors and tacks. His nail caught on one of the scabs that hadn't healed and it ripped off. Soon, blood was squirting from it and I looked for somewhere to look at other than there. He caught my eyes and locked mine with his as he put his hand calmly over the cut. Soon, the bleeding stopped, and he kissed it. "Have you stopped?" I shook my head. "When was the last time you...did it?" I bit my lip.

"Last night."

"Where?" he asks. His voice was starting to break.

I pulled the edge of my shorts down to show my hip that had forty thin lines on it. "Theres forty on the other too."

"Why forty?"

"We were gone forty minutes."

"Oh, baby," Carson says, his voice sad. His eyes drooped into a color blue I'd never seen before. It was crystalline periwinkle color that I assumed only came out when he was truly sad. He leaned to my wrists and kissed them up and down. Then, he kissed his fingers and pressed them to my hip. "I am going to make sure this never happens to you again." He then said something that I knew I needed to do, but was too scared to do alone, "I'm going to take you to Mrs. Paltiel."

"Okay."

"And we're going to talk about this."

"Okay."

"We're going to see about getting you depression medication."

"Okay."

"And we're going to your house after school to throw away anything that you're using to hurt yourself."

"Okay."

"And I'll be there the whole time."

"Okay." With that, we walked to Mrs. Paltiel's office. Sarah Paltiel was not the kind of woman you'd picture being a therapist, but she did an excellent job with it. When Carson and I got in, she immediately started asking questions.

"Relationship counseling?"

"No."

"Sibling counseling?"

"No."

"Then what's the matter?"

Carson talks for me, "I'm just...worried about my girlfriend." Butterflies flew in my stomach when he said that word-especially since he was talking about me.

Mrs. Paltiel smiles, "Okay. How can I help?"

"I think she has depression. She's told me before…," then he stops, looking to see if it was okay that he told her. I nodded. "...that she had anorexia. She also is currently a self-harmer."

"My, we have a lot on our plate. She must be so tired."

He nods quickly, impatiently, "What can you do to help?"

"I can talk to her parents…," Mrs. Paltiel starts.

We both shake our heads violently at that.

"Or we can do some private counseling. As long as there's a witness. That's usually why their parent is there, so they have some comfort in someone they love while they take the steps to recovering."

"Can I be her witness?" Carson asks.

"I suppose. You need to be with her when she's alone and such so she doesn't do anything."

I cut in, "I don't want a babysitter."

"And you aren't getting one. Carson just wants you to get better, just like we all do."

I snorted, and Carson squeezed my hand. "Now, now."

"I don't want to be patronized."

"Be reasonable with me. It's only fair," Mrs. Paltiel states.

"I don't have to be reasonable. nor do I want to be reasonable with you."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm scared."

"Why?"

"Do I need to tell you every single thing?" I ask. Carson takes my hand tighter in his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of my knuckles. I continued, "I just… I don't feel safe and comfortable trusting a complete stranger with my words and with my problems."

Mrs. Paltiel cuts in, "You trust Carson."

"Carson isn't a complete stranger to me!" I scream. "It would be really freaking weird if I was dating a complete stranger, wouldn't it?!" Mrs. Paltiel parts her lips to speak again, but I shook my head angrily, "You don't understand it! I can't trust people with this stuff. I even surprised myself by trusting Carson with it!"

What she said now really set me off. She put on that same voice that Carson did when he saw my scars, but it sounded almost mocking, "Oh, sweetheart."

"STOP. PATRONIZING. ME! I am a grown girl! I am sixteen! I am capable of understanding scientific terms and English higher than the third grade!" Mrs. Paltiel looks shocked, and a little bemused. "You think that every single mental illness case is the same. You think they're all stuck in a scared, childish fantasy that they don't want to get out of. I am not someone's defined 'special case," I held up air-quotes around the words, "and I don't need your 'motherly, patronizing help' to get my through my 'case' or my 'problems.'"

Carson pulls me by my hand out of the room, "Give us a minute, please, Mrs. Paltiel." Mrs. Paltiel nods willingly, before taking a large sip of her coffee and rubbing her forehead. Carson looks at me up and down in the hallway, "What's gotten into you?"

"I don't want her to know what's wrong. I just want her to stop it."

"So, do you just want to bring up the idea of medication?" I nod. "Okay. We'll do that then." So in we went, back into the room, and Mrs. Paltiel puts on a winning smile. Carson speaks for me, which I was appreciative of, "She… uh… she isn't really here for guidance as much as she is here for her next step." A lie slips out of his lips now, "She already is going to therapy. I think she just wants to see about getting depression medication. Her parents were thinking about it already."

"Shouldn't she ask her therapist?" she asks.

I bite my lip, trying hard not to swear.

"Um, she hasn't been there recently. It's been about two weeks."

"Oh," Mrs. Paltiel says. "Well… I can talk to the principal and hold a parent-teacher conference with her parents about this."

"Can you make sure that her parents don't know we tipped you off?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." With that, we walked out of the room, and the bell for the last class of the day rang. It was the end of the day. Finally, this day of hell was over. Or, it was until I remembered we were throwing out my razors today. I felt miserable by this thought. My one release was going to be gone, and there wasn't a thing I could do to stop it. We drove to my house, and Carson followed me upstairs.

"Where do you usually keep them?"

I sigh, "There's a few in my bedside table, and then there's some in a box in my vanity mirror in the bathroom."

"I'll get the ones in the nightstand. You get the ones in the bathroom. We're going to flush them together," he promises.

"Okay." With that, I went to the bathroom and was struck with a brilliant idea. I grabbed the familiar midnight velvet of the box, and popped it open. I slid two of the thin, cool metal blades into my hand, and slid them into my pocket. Then, I snapped the box shut as he walked in.

"Ready?"

"Yes," I a turn of my box, and the flip of his hand, we each dump the blades into the toilet. I watch them splash in. There must have been around fifteen of them, minus the two I had in my pocket. He reaches for my hand, and urges me to pull the handle of the flush. I sigh, close my eyes, and push down the lever. I hear the familiar whoosh of the toilet flushing, and, when my eyes opened, the blades were gone.

"Now, I'm going to make sure you don't start again."

A pang of guilt washed over me and the two I had hidden in my pocket. "You didn't get all of them."

"What?"

"I think there's a few you might have missed in the nightstand."

"Alright," he says, walking over and searching. After he was gone, I pulled the two out of my pocket, and set one on the vanity. "I don't see them!"

"Keep looking!" I call. I run the metal over my fingers and turn it over. One-two-three. One-two-three. I find myself sitting against the wall, and running the blade over my fingers, unconscious of the fact that there was blood on my fingertips now.

"Hey, love? I don't think you-," but he cuts off. "Oh my god, what are you doing?"

"What?" I ask, suddenly aware and out of my stupor. "I-I…." I trailed off.

He swipes the blade from my fingers and takes the other from the vanity. Carson then throws them in and flushes them. "I can't believe this."

"Go ahead."

"What?"

"Aren't you going to go?"

"Why?" The nonplussed expression was evident on his face, along with his hesitation.

"Because you don't want to deal with some petty little girl's problems, do you?"

"Well…," he starts, but I cut him off.

"You were done from the start, weren't you? You never wanted this. You pity me, just like every single stupid person on this planet! Everyone feels bad for me!"

"I never said that."

"You might not have said it, but you surely meant it!"

His face was filled with upset at the accusation, but I was flaring now. I never would have stopped yelling at him had my parents not come in.

"Carson, I think it's best if you go home," I hear my dad say from outside my door.

"Yes, sir," he responds, turning out the door and walking away. I heard his car putter to start, and he was gone. I suddenly felt alone in my room.

"What was that about," my dad asks me.

"Nothing," I say. I hoped he could sense the pleading in my voice, my begging for him to not ask.

He does. "Okay. See you at dinner. Don't forget your homework."

I pored over my geometry homework for hours. Eventually, I ended up recopying my homework four different ways in four different writing styles. I was distracted. I was distraught. And the one person I needed most was gone.

My phone buzzed with texts, but I ignored them. If I was going to wallow, I was going to do it without distraction. Suddenly, I heard my ringtone bounce around my room as I got a call.

_Give me a reason to fall in love, take my hand and let's dance. Give me a reason to make me smile, cause I think I forgot how. I wanna fall asleep with you tonight. I wanna know that I am safe when you hold me tight. I wanna feel how I wanna feel forever._

I blinked away my tears as I hit the answer button on the phone. I then lift the phone to my ear, and softly said, "Hello?"

Carson's voice answers me, "Riley?"

"Speaking," I say sadly.

"I'm sorry your dad sent me away. Do you want me to come back or do you want to come here?"

"I'm on my way. Be there in five minutes."

"Okay." With that, he hung up, and I was on my way to his house. When I arrived, I recalled my current clothes: sweatpants and Carson's stupid hoodie he still left here. I shook this thought out of my mind as I let myself in. Sheryl was sound asleep, so I just tiptoed my way upstairs to Carson's room. He opened the door fast and hugged me close. I let him, and he held me for a long time. Finally I pulled away, "Alright. I'm here."

He takes my hands and leads me to sit on the bed with him. An unwelcome and scared shiver danced down my spine. Carson continues, "I want you to be safe where you live."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"I want you to stop cutting."

"Might as well start making a list of things you don't want me to do."

"Is there more?"

"Oh, you know, just the purging and binging and skipping meals. And wanting to drink bleach every night you aren't here. That's an oldie but goodie."

Carson's eyes widen, "I didn't know things were so hard for you."

"I've been bullied every day since I was ten. I think I've had hard."

"What have they said to you?"

"Wow! You're so ugly! You're stupid!worthless! pathetic! Why are you even here? Kill yourself!"

"They've said that stuff to you?"

"They've drawn knives on me. They've threatened me. They've hit me. They've harassed me. They've locked me outside in freezing temperatures."

"Riley, I didn't realize."

"Yeah, you didn't realize." With a sigh, I look down. He's quiet for a long time, longer, almost, than I thought I could bear. I let out a nervous breath, and I felt him wrap his arms around me tightly. I knew he never wanted me to have this sort of struggle in my life, but, alas, all bad things come to those who don't deserve it. I let him sit there with his arms around me as long as he dared, until he let go. I sighed out a shaky breath again, and then he said something that I'd heard a million times before, but it suddenly sounded different.

"You'll be better soon."

"If I'm lucky."

"No. You will. I promise. You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm going to ask my mom to get antidepressants for me, and then I'll give them to you. Sound okay?"

"Okay."

We laid in his bed for hours. We never left those blush blue sheets, even after night had fallen and we were getting tired. I assumed now that we were to lay there for ages on end, until school the next morning. I purred out a breath, silently to anyone but myself, and Carson stirred. He got out of the bed and turned into the hall. Then, I heard the sturdy clack of the attic stairs going down. With a grunt, he returned into the room, putting the stairs up as he did. Then, he set whatever he got on the nightstand, and plugged it in. I noticed then it was one of those childish rotator lights that project shapes onto the walls to help the child sleep better. "The rotator is broken, but the light will still work," he says, absently. I wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or me, but I nodded. He flicked a switch on the wire, and the light went through the cuts in the metal outline. Right over the bed was a moon, surrounded by billions of tiny little stars, twinkling and sparkling. A few of the stars trailed onto the pillows where Carsons face soon would be; and so they were when he flopped into bed, and they sparkled into his eyes. He closed his eyes and the pale light glinted against his eyelashes, all the while while I watched them. Then, I glanced at the light and noticed that it was rotating.

"You said the rotator was broken," I say softly.

"I thought it was," his voice said back to me, warm and smooth like honey. "But I'm happy the moon is staying in the same spot."

"Me too," I agree.

We finally began drifting to sleep, his arm wrapped loosely around my waist with my nose brushing against his jaw. We were both comfortable and warm; and we were both happy as can be.


	11. Chapter 10

We were woken out of our stupor in the morning. The shit queen herself, Sheryl, decided to disrupt us. She slammed open the door and unplugged the light with a flick of her wrist. Then, she screamed at us, "Get up! I better see clothes on when you two get out of bed!" I woke up before Carson did, and rolled over, sliding my feet off the bed and to the floor, then standing. I yawned. "Wow, my mistake of a son can't even wake up in a morning!" Sheryl yelled at Carson's sleeping figure. I sighed.

"Why don't you try being nice to him for once?" I suggest hopefully.

"That would never work. It's called tough love for a reason," she replies, then goes back to yelling at him.

"Sheryl," I start, then correct myself, "Mrs. Phillips. Let me."

"If you get him up, I will literally pay you ten dollars. He's a mess."

Ignoring her, I climb back over the bed to him, and touch his shoulder gently, "Hey, it's morning." I hear a groan. A sign of life! Kids, we have contact! "It's about seven fifteen. You overslept a little, honey."

"Mom?" he asks, blinking. He then sees Sheryl, mouth agape, and me, eyes tender and looking at him sweetly. "Good morning to you," he says kindly, with a grin. Then, however, he realizes his mom was in the room too. "And good morning to you, mom. I guess." Sheryl stomps out, and I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. He leans into the touch, and slides a hand down my arm, laying it on top of my hand. Finally, we rolled out of bed, and yawned together. We got dressed together and went to the car together.

Together is a funny word. You and someone, or someones, are all together. You do something together. You be together. I recall in my second grade class, my teacher taught us how to spell together. She reminded us that it was To-Get-Her. To get her. Carson and I were together. Carson was together with me. Carson was to get her with me. Carson was to get her. Her was me. It touched me, in a way, even if it was just the common English language and thinking too much. When we pull up to school, he presses a long, lingering, warm kiss to my mouth, and I sigh into the kiss, happy to feel better.

"When do you think you'll get the 'depressants?" I ask.

"Probably after school. My mom should be able to get them soon," he promises. "As soon as I get them, I'll bring them to your house."

"Thank you," I say gratefully. Then, we go to our classes together. At the end of the day, Writers' club called us. We had a newspaper to finish. I had never actually been around to see the finished Chronicle because I always had something to do or somewhere to be. So, today was my first compilation and printing day for the Chronicle. We arranged everything together on the software that Carson had on his computer, and then we sent one to the printer also in the room. He picked it up.

"Don't you think only one copy is a bit too little, even if no one reads the Chronicle?" I ask.

He doesn't say anything, just gestures for me to follow him, and then we walk to the hallway where the teachers' lounge was. I glance at the sign that reads, 'Teacher Use Only.' Carson disregards it. Without words, he turns the knob and opens it, setting the newspaper we had printed onto the tray. He taps in '150' for the number of copies, then hits the green button. The machine whirs to life and begins spewing out papers. After they all printed, he hands me half of the stack, "Here. We've got to sort them for classes to distribute them."

"Which classes are we giving them to?"

"Homerooms."

So we arranged our list.

_Mrs. Emerson_

_Mr. Gullik_

_Mr. Anten_

_Ms. Sharpton (4-career counseling)_

_Mrs. Toftegaard_

_Mr. Walsh_

_Mr. McAllister_

_Ms. Scheiner_

_Mrs. Strasbury_

So, we then figured out how many kids were in each homeroom and added these numbers to our list.

_Mrs. Emerson (10)_

_Mr. Gullik (15)_

_Mr. Anten (13)_

_Ms. Sharpton (4-career counseling)_

_Mrs. Toftegaard (16)_

_Mr. Walsh (20)_

_Mr. McAllister (10)_

_Ms. Scheiner (17)_

_Mrs. Strasbury (5 - advancement)_

I then said, "You printed more than we need."

"I always take extra to the old folks home downtown. You know, Clover Assisted Living. My grandma's there. They always ask me to bring about forty copies for them to read there, so I do," he replies. There was a sad look in his eye, and I felt a pang of hurt for him.

"Could I go with you when you take them?" I ask.

"Sure. I've been telling my grandma about you. She might not remember you, but it'll still be nice for her to see you," Carson says. I smiled at him, which brought him to smile too. "I'm going after school when we're done with Writers' Club, so it wouldn't be trouble to take you since I usually take you home anyway." I nod, and he takes my hand, as he grabs the stack of papers and puts them carefully into his bag. Then, we drive to CAL. CAL is one of those musty, boring old folks' homes that people often stare at the floors at to avoid contact with peoples' eyes. The smell was a fetid standing-dust smell that was poorly perfumed by the smell of dried flowers. I realized I didn't quite care for the smell, but there was little I could do about it. Suddenly, the further we walked through the halls to Carson's grandmother, the smaller I felt. I stepped closer to Carson in stride, and held his hand tight in my own. He looked down at me for a moment, reassuring me with his eyes before staring straight again. "Grandma?" he asks softly into the room.

A woman with tight, curly red hair looks up, "Who said that?" Carson steps in, pulling me behind him. "You look like my grandson."

"I am your grandson."

"No, you arent. My grandson's just a little boy."

Carson purses his lips, and it was evident he had heard this before. He plops down in one of the red plastic chairs they had next to the wall, and then says, "I brought you a copy of the Chronicle, grandma." When his grandmother doesn't look up, he sets it on the table next to her bed. "What are you making?"

His grandmother looked puzzled for a moment, as if she didn't even know what she was knitting anymore. Finally she made up her mind, "A scarf blanket."

Carson smiles sadly at this. I squeeze his hand tighter, and we watch her knit for a few minutes. Then, he pulls out a textbook from his backpack, letting go of my hand, and then pulls out a notebook. He begins doing homework. Apparently this was average routine for him; that is, his grandmother not remembering a thing in the world, and him accepting that.

"Ms. Phillips?" I ask. She doesn't look up. "Ma'am?" After a bit more prodding and a couple more 'ma'am's, she looked up. I said, "How's the weather today?"

She glances out the window, "It looks like it's sunny. But let me tell you a story that isn't sunny. You know that old President Nixon?" I nodded, and Carson looks up, opening his mouth as she does and saying the words with her, "That man is so backwards he screws his boots on." I stopped talking, and Ms. Phillips goes back to her knitting. Carson proceeds to his work again. I realized Carson had given up. He would try, but, when she didn't recognize him, gave up. After a few hours of me staring at nothing or watching the people through Ms. Phillips' window, Carson packed up.

"Let's go."

"Okay," I agree, and we walk away.

"Bye, grandma," he says, even though his grandmother was asleep. I smiled to cheer him up, and we drove to my house. When he stopped, I turned the key in the ignition and turned off the motor. He looks at me, confused. I take his hands and pull him from the car, and grin, "My bed has your name on it." He mimics my same grin, and we run to my house, leaving our stuff long behind. We lay there and we actually kissed more heatedly than I was anticipating. The kissing cooled down into a mirroring of our bodies. We laid so close to each other, fingers and hands trailing over bodies and hair. Carson and I both looked at each other with so much love. I heard a song in the back of my mind.

Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns. Sleep in your old shirts and walk through this house, and in your shoes, I know it's strange. It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you, I'm supposed to love you.

I let out a calm, balanced breath, even and neutral. He mimics me in equal contentment. Finally, he and I fell asleep, tangled together, limbs with limbs, and breathing on each others' bodies comfortably.


	12. Chapter 11

Friday came faster than I thought it would. I zoned out for most of school, only paying attention when Carson needed me to. We both skipped Writers' Club today, heading to my house to get ready for the dance. He stood on one side of the room, and I on the other, each keeping our backs turned as we got ready. I went into the bathroom to throw on some makeup that was small and unnoticeable, but still there. Then, I sat on the edge of the vanity and pulled on my shoes. With steady fingers, I began to twist my hair to curl it a little. Carson calls from the other room, "You done yet? Your mom wants us to do corsages soon!"

"Almost," I call back, then finish up my hair. I step out and Carson's face lights up. With a grab at my hand, we start down the stairs. My mom and dad take pictures, all the while we were grinning. My dad hands Carson his box with the corsage in it, and my mom hands me mine with the boutonniere in it. I pin Carson's boutonniere to the lapel of his jacket-which he looked stunning in, by the way-, and then he wraps the corsage around my wrist. He and I stand next to each other while my parents snap pictures, and Carson, following our Las Vegas tradition, presses a kiss to my cheek as my mom snaps one more. Then, we take the most royal way to school: in his Corvair.

Have I mentioned how fond I am of his car? I love that car almost more than I love him. It's gorgeous looking but still manages to get good gas mileage. It's a convertible! A convertible! Those things were awesome, honestly. Plus, the seats are comfortable and the machinery isn't that old. Old cars never ever want to run right, but the Corvair's engine purred once you got it started.

Anyways, we got to the dance and it was actually very well decorated. I praised Carson for egging on the decoration committee. We stepped in and immediately sat at one of the few tables they had set, claiming our seats so those poor folks who got tired would have to sit on the floor instead of sitting on the chairs like us. The two of us watch watch the people arrive and start dancing, all the while us sitting together, holding hands, and occasionally singing along to the shitty bubblegum pop. After awhile, I convinced him to dance with me to said shitty bubblegum pop, and he laughed, saying he would. I then took his hand and led him forward, grinning and swishing my skirt while we danced together. We laughed and danced together, listening to a song that wasn't necessarily bubblegum pop, but was still popular.

And I can tell just what you want, you don't want to be alone. You don't want to be alone. And I can't say it's what you know, but you've known it the whole time. Yeah, you've known it the whole time.

The song pumps to a synthy bridge of 'yeahs,' and the lights begin to flicker and flash with strobes. Carson and I both dance close to each other, laughing and moving as we well pleased, disregarding how everyone else was. I noticed the camera recording our movements for the Winter Dance Video they show the Monday after. For once, I didn't shy away from it. I kept dancing. Carson kept dancing. He gave me confidence to ignore the stupid camera and just spend time with someone I love. After the song changed, I heard it switch to a slower song, intended for a slower couples dance. He took my hand and pulled me closer, and I followed suit, resting my head on his shoulder and tucking my nose into the crook of his neck. Carson's hand tucks familiarly into the small of my back, and we turn in place, rocking calmly and serenely to the tune of the song.

_(Start now on Pokeball + Coffeeshop Jessica's playlist! -A/N)_

_I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart. But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start. You put your arms around me, and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go. You put your arms around me… and I'm home._

Carson leans close to my ear and whispers, "You knocked me off the ground from the start." I smile.

_How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around? I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown. I hope that you can see right through my walls. I hope that you can catch me 'cause I'mn already falling. I'll never get a love get so close, you put your arms around me and I'm home._

_The world is coming down on me, and I can't find a reason to be loved. I never wanna leave you but I can't make you bleed if I'm alone. You put your arms around me, and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go. I hope that you can see right through my walls. I hope that you can catch me 'cause I'm already falling. I'll never get a love get so close, you put your arms around me and I'm home._

_I tried my best to never let you in to see the truth. And I've never opened up, I've never truly loved 'til you put your arms around me and I believe that it's easier for you to let me go…._

He continues to whisper in my ear, "Sounds a lot like someone I know."

_I hope that you can see right through my walls. I hope that you can catch me 'cause I'mn already falling. I'll never get a love get so close, you put your arms around me and I'm home. You put your arms around me and I'm home._

The song fades away, and I pull back from Carson's shoulder. He presses a kiss to the top of my forehead, then smiles at me. I smile back. Carson leans down, "Hey, do you wanna ditch this for some live music at the coffee shop down the street?"

"I'd like that. I got my slow dance, that's all I wanted."

"You could've done that in your bedroom, love," Carson says fondly, then takes my hand. We both leave and head down to the coffeeshop. There, I order hot chocolate and he orders coffee. We sit, and a girl with brown hair and wide hazel eyes. She had freckles sprayed over her cheeks and nose, and she smiled at the two of us, introducing herself.

"Hey! I'm Jessica."

"Nice to meet you," I say, shaking her hand. "Are you local to here?"

"I live down in Valencia," she says, "but the cafe booked me, so here I am!"

"You going to perform a set?" Carson asks. I almost laugh because it was obvious that she was.

"Yep! Five of my favorite songs."

"Good luck!" we both say together before sitting front row. She started out with her first song after a short introduction.

"Hey guys! My name's Jessica. Over on the table so kindly provided by the venue, I have some copies of my EP. They're eight dollars apiece. Any funds will help me pay rent and maybe, hopefully convince a record deal to sign me! Thanks for the support. Now, this song is one of my favorites. If you know it, go ahead and sing along."

_The day I first met you, you told me you'd never fall in love. But now that I get you, I know that fear is what it really was. Now here we are, so close yet so far. Haven't I passed the test? When will you realize, baby, I'm not like the rest? Don't wanna break your heart, wanna give your heart a break. I know you're scared it's wrong, like you might make a mistake. There's just one life to live, and there's no time to wait, to wait. So let me give your heart a break. Let me give your heart a break._

Carson whips to look at me, "This song is literally us."

"Hm?" I ask.

_On Sunday, you went home alone, there were tears in your eyes. I called your cell phone, my love, but you did not reply._

Carson's eyes widen, "Holy shit. Our fight was on Sunday." The song finishes, and then she starts talking again.

"How is everyone? I know I talked to a couple here earlier. Where are they?" I raise my hand and she smiles at us, "Shoutout to those two! They look like they just came from a ball. Anyways, my next song is a great one. Another one of my favorites. Well, all of my setlist is favorites...but… moving on! Enjoy!"

_If you ever change your mind about leaving, leaving me behind. Bring it to me, bring your sweet loving, bring it on home to me, yeah yeah yeah. I know I laughed when you left, but now I know I only hurt myself. Oh-oh, bring it to me. Bring your sweet loving, bring it on home to me. I'll give you jewellry and money, too. That ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you. Oh-oh, bring it to me. Bring your sweet loving, bring it on home to me. You know I'll always be your slave, 'til I'm buried, buried in my grave. Oh honey, bring it to me. Bring your sweet loving, bring it on home to me. One more thing, I tried to treat you right. But you stayed out, stayed out at night. But I forgive you. Bring it to me. Bring your sweet loving, bring it on home to me._

Another break for her to chat to us while she strummed and fixed her guitar, adjusting her capo. "I hope I'm giving you guys at least a little entertainment. My mom was telling me, 'Now, Jess, don't bore them to death!' But here's the next song for you guys." I could say that the song she sang was a sudden turn from her previous songs, but it still seemed to fit her.

_Let's get it crunk, we gonna have fun, up on in this dancery! We got ya open, now ya floatin', so you gots to dance for me! Don't need no hateration, holleratin' in this dancery! Let's get it percolatin', while you're waiting, so just dance for me!_

After this song with her spectacle of vocal range, she gave a us an interlude again while adjusting her capo once more. "Now, everyone loves The Beatles, right?" Someone called from the back of the shop that they prefer the Rolling Stones. "Ah, damn. The 'Stones always are competition at least once. But, hopefully you 'Stones fans can handle The Beatles for three minutes while I sing this next one."

_Something in the way she moves attracts me like no other lover. Something in the way she woos me, I don't want to leave her now. You know I believe and how. Somewhere in her smile she knows, that I don't need no other lover. Something in her style that shows me I don't want to leave her now. You know I believe and how._

"Last, I want to sing this song...just because...well.. who doesn't like The Police?"

_You don't have to put on the red light, those days are over. You don't have to sell your body to the night. Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight. Walk the streets of money, you don't care if its wrong or if it's right. Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light. Roxanne. I loved you since I knew you. I wouldn't talk down to you. I have you to tell just how I feel. I won't share you with another boy. I know my mind is made up, so put away your make-up. Told you once, I won't tell you again, it's a bad way. Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light. Roxanne._

At the end of the song, everyone gives her a roar of applause. She gets a Standing-O. Everyone's in love with her voice. "Thank you guys again, so much. Reminder that my EP is on sale here in physical, and it's also available on BandCamp and iTunes. If you don't want to buy a physical copy but you want to give money, I also have a tip jar there and a donate button on my BandCamp. Thank you, Clover, for having me!" I watched people mill around and was defeated to know that all the EP's sold out. I walked up to her.

"Sucks that all your EP's sold out before I could have a copy."

"Don't be so sure," she says, handing me a copy. I look down at it to find it signed. "I wanted to put your name on it but I didn't know it."

"Could you put Riley and Carson on there?" I ask.

"Sure." To my shock, she spells my name right. Then, Jessica hands the disc back to me and says, "My treat. Don't feel obligated to pay for it. I think you two are great. Maybe we can stick in contact."

"I hope so," I say, smiling.

"I would love to chat, but I've gotta bounce. I'm set for San Francisco in the a.m., and I can't be late. See ya!" Jessica then turns on her heel, taking her guitar with her, out into the street. I squint to see her figure, and watch her. She walks down the road until she's out of sight. It then hit me that she didn't have a car. I wanted to stop her, but she was gone. I glanced down at the disc to find she had written:

**Dear Carson and Riley,**

**Thanks for coming out tonight. I really appreciate the support.**

**(714) 338-9940. Keep in touch. See you around.**

**And hey, if you two aren't still dating by the time I get back,**

**you're both going to have trouble.**

**Jessica Lanham**

I realized the name sounded familiar. She had been in the library the one day we were. That meant she was either a senior or a high school dropout of recent. I suddenly got an idea and whipped out my phone. I dialed the number, and heard a ring...ring...ring...ri-

"Jessica speaking. Talk to me."

"Hey! Um, It's…"

"Riley?" she asks.

"Yes, actually."

"What's up, buttercup?"

"I was wondering if you were heading to New York after your San Francisco gig?"

"How'd you know?"

"Carson and I know the feel of getting out of a shitty small town. We want to go with you."

"Well look at you two, living it up with this washed up rockstar. You've got yourself a deal, Riles. See you in a few days. Wait at the coffeeshop at five thirty Wednesday night. You're going to New York."

Carson looks at me curiously as I hang up my phone. "We need to hurry."

"Why?"

"We need to go to all-day classes."

"Holy shit, are you fucking crazy?"

"We're going to New York."

"How?" he asks, but suddenly it makes sense. We say it together, "Jessica."

"She's coming here at five thirty Wednesday. We need to earn as many credits as we can before we leave."

"Why?"

"So we can get to college sooner and eventually become the most pivotal power couple in the history of journalism and the New Yorker. That's why."

"I love you," he says, his voice a dreamy drawl and he presses a kiss to my lips affectionately as we hopped into the car. We drove home and I called the school, asking if we can switch to all-day school for extra credits. They reminded us the hours were from eight a.m. to nine p.m. and we would earn one extra credit for every class attended during this time. We would, in total, earn 42 credits from these next three days-Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday-alone, which is almost more than enough to graduate. We could go to college in New York with those credits.

I bid him farewell as he dropped me off at home, and I sigh contentedly with the thought of being in New York. New York was the city where Carson and I would get married. Where our kids would grow up. Where we'd live with Jessica in a shitty loft until Carson and I picked up New Yorker jobs and she became famous. We would live shittily until we finally made it big. It reminded me of every Broadway New Yorker's dream. I then was reminded of the years I dreamed of being a Broadway star. Maybe I could give harmonies to Jessica's songs… or maybe not.

I fell asleep quickly, comforted by the thought of New York. I would tell my parents in the morning. I knew Carson wouldn't tell Sheryl. Sheryl wouldn't care anyways. The night passed, and, of course following the common patterns of night and day, morning followed. I woke up, and headed for breakfast. My parents greeted me with a smile. I opened my mouth, "Can I talk to you guys about something?"

"Carson didn't get you pregnant, did he?" my mom asks quickly, evidently blurting.

"N-no, god no. We haven't had sex yet."

"Good. Good," my mom looked relieved.

"I went to a coffee shop last night. There was this amazing singer… her name was Jessica. She offered to take Carson and I to New York on Wednesday."

"What about your credits?!"

"I already called in for all-day school. It's just a few extra hours, and with three days I get 42 credits."

"How?"

"You get credits for entering all-day school with all-day classes. Plus, the average credits of the classes."

"Will they let you graduate early?"

"I don't know."

"Okay."

"Does that mean I can go?" I ask.

My parents look at each other, talking through facial expressions and shrugs. Finally, my mom turns, "Okay. But you better write to us every single day and call us when you need to. Take good care of yourself."

"Carson'll take good care of her, honey," my dad says to my mom. My mom nods knowingly. "I would get packing."

"Thank you guys so so much!" I yell, hugging them both and running up to my room. I throw together a suitcase, and then text Carson telling him that my parents said I could go. Things were looking up for me. In the back of my mind, I began to hear 'New York, New York' by Frank Sinatra.

_My little town blues, they are melting away. I gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York!_


	13. Chapter 12

That's how Carson and I got to New York. I'd like to say that we were able to book a Southwest Airlines flight, but Jessica reminded us that wasn't her style. So, we ended up hitchhiking our way to New York. We had to stop at three different places because cars were going different directions than we hoped. Twice, that was on the interstate highway, where I was scared out of my mind. Carson always would hold my hand reassuringly and rub his thumb over my knuckles. Jessica, still ever the badass, said that we could probably walk across the interstate to try the other side lanes of cars. I squeaked out a protest, so we stayed on that side.

We finally were there… in the big, beautiful city of New York. I gasped. It was really beautiful. The big buildings and the skyline were breathtaking. Jessica coaxed us, "C'mon you two. I bought the loft before we got here. It was a little steep for me, so you two are going to have to buy groceries for the first five months at least." The two of us nodded, and we headed to the loft. It was empty, save for a table with two chairs, a bed, a couch, and a kitchenette and bathroom.. I let go of my suitcase by the door. "I'll sleep on the couch if you guys want the bed," Jessica offers. "I just don't want to hear you two fucking in the middle of the night. Save it for my gig nights." A sly wink appears on her face, and I could tell that she and the two of us would get along fine.

We ordered in pizza that night because none of us wanted to cook. Then, Jessica said she was going to explore the town and go bar hopping. I remark, "Aren't you eighteen?"

"Haven't you ever heard of the magic of fake IDs?" she says.

"What are we supposed to do while you're gone?" Carson asks.

"Either play Tiddlywinks or come with me. I made you two some before we left. I'll tell you, Riley, you're gonna grow up into a hot chick, but you honestly look a little pathetic now."

I nod, "I agree."

Carson raises his voice, "That's my girlfriend!"

"Yes, I know," Jessica says, cocking her hip, "and she agreed with me. So, it's not an insult."

Carson frowns, but perks up when I take his hand and pull him out after Jessica left the door open. "Don't worry, love. I'm not offended by it. I know she's just joking."

"Okay," he says, kissing my cheek as we walk behind her. She hands us our IDs around the corner from the first bar.

"Don't present it unless they ID you," she says. "Otherwise you look suspicious. And don't act suspicious, obviously. Play it cool. Pretend you don't even have it until they ask for it." We both nod, and then head inside. It was rather quiet, much different than I expected. An old eighties rock station was playing over the speakers, and there were two occupants other than the bartender: an older man with a pallid face who looked half-asleep, and a curly haired man with hazel eyes. He was wearing a beanie and tight red pants. I noticed the piercing on his lip. Jessica eyed him, and he was eyeing her. She sits by him, and they immediately start chatting. The guy buys her a drink, evidently under her order, which was a shot glass and a bottle of tequila.

As he walks by, he introduces himself, one handedly, "Darren. I like your friend. She seems pretty cool."

"Are you two gonna do shots?" Carson asks, obviously much more into the loop on alcohol.

"Yep. Tequila's strong stuff. Have you guys had it before?"

"No," we both say together.

"C'mere. You should have some too."

"Okay," Carson says, for the two of us. I glance at the door, suddenly worried. This would be my first time having alcohol other than Church wine.

"Oi, Bernard!" Darren calls to the bartender, "Three more shot glasses!"

"'Ya sure 'ya want 'em?" he calls back.

"I'm sure! Hurry up!" Bernard comes back with the shot glasses, and Darren dishes them out between us. He pours each of us an even shot of tequila. "Bottom's up. Drink it all. Don't chicken out or you have to buy the next bottle."

I took a nervous breath, and took the glass into my hand. I heard Jessica count down the numbers. "Three… two… one… down!" I threw the glass back into my mouth and swallowed. Instantly, my throat began burning, but I wasn't the first one to start coughing. Carson coughed first, then I did, then Darren. Jessica laughs, "Pour me another." Carson and I stand, leaving Jessica and Darren to their bottle of tequila, and Carson heads up to the bar, taking a seat. I sit next to him.

"What'll it be?" Bernard asks.

"Would it be embarrassing to get something virgin here?" I ask him.

He smiles kindly, "Naw. It's alright. Especially since it was obvious that was your first shot. Tequila's strong stuff for a firstie."

"Okay. I'll have a virgin Shirley Temple then."

"And you, sir?"

"I'll take wine."

"You've got it."

We sit, and Bernard brings us our drinks. Then, Carson and I take sips of our drinks, watching Jessica and Darren. I notice the pallid faced man leave. Carson laughs into his drink as he watches the two, seeing them argue over whether tequila burns or stings. I thought both were applicable. Overall, I could say I wouldn't be taking shots of tequila again. My Shirley Temple was fine enough for me for now. I had a feeling that I would only take virgin cocktails, wine, or champagne. Carson stopped after his one drink, only ordering non-alcoholic this time. I appreciated that. Jessica stands, pulling Darren by his hand, "We're going to a different one now. Dare told me about this one that has karaoke."

I noticed the nickname, but didn't question it. I guess they got along really well. We started walking after thanking Bernard for his service and bidding him a good evening. "So, Darren, you're a singer too?"

"Yeah," Darren replies, "Five years. Started on YouTube, almost got casted to a show, now I do tours when I can."

"Really?" I ask, intrigued.

"Yep. I did one last summer. It was called 'Listen Up.'"

"Cool," the three remaining in the group reply to him. We walk to the bar, where they ID us at the door. Carson and I flash ours with a calm face, then walk in after Jessica and Darren. I noticed the two were already on stage, ready to duet a song together, obviously half drunk. I watched the two sing a song from Grease, which was a great fit for their voices.

_Summer lovin', had me a blast. Summer lovin', happened so fast. Met a girl, crazy for me. Met a boy, cute as can be. Summer days drifting away, to -uh oh- those summer nights. A well-a well-a well-a well-a uh, tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far? Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car? She swam by me, she got a cramp. He ran by me, got my suit damp. Saved her life, she nearly drowned. He showed off, splashing around. Summer sun, something's begun. But -uh oh-, those summer nights. Tell me more, tell me more, was it love at first sight? Tell me more, tell me more, did she put up a fight?_

I watched them sing, and knew that they had chemistry. They were both badasses, but they both had a great soft side that only wanted to come out in their music. I could see them together. Carson held my hand as we sat at the bar, both of us sipping innocently on water, neither wanting to be as drunk as Jessica and Darren were becoming. Carson and I chatted while Jessica and Darren kept singing. We decided to let them sing so they wouldn't keep drinking.

A burly man walks towards the two of us, his eyes fixed on me. Carson quips, "He looks like trouble."

"You don't know that," I say. The man gets closer.

"Hey, honey. You wanna head to my place? We can tinker a bit with the plumbing."

My eyes narrow, "Excuse me?"

I feel Carson's hand tense up in mine, and he stands, "Excuse you?"

"I'm just sayin'. Maybe he can come along too. We could start a fire with that match."

I felt my eyes narrow more as Carson lets go of my hand, "How about you fuck off and leave me and my girlfriend alone?"

"'Ey, mate, didn't mean to get your panties in a twist."

"Fuck off and piss off. Go, shoo."

The man doesn't budge, and instead tries the different approach of making for my hands. I lift them and give him a firm slap to the cheek, "Fuck off. I don't want scum like you here. I'm happy with my boyfriend, not you." After that incident, the man walks away to hit on another girl, and Carson holds my hand exceptionally tight and obviously, as if to prove to everyone that I was his and anyone who tried to question that would be severely sassed.

When they got tired, we parted ways with Darren, who exchanged numbers with Jessica and gave her a kiss on the cheek before bidding us adieu and leaving. Then, we went back to the loft. Jessica, within five minutes, passed out on the couch. Carson and I sat at the edge of the bed, reliving our first night in New York. We both tried alcohol for the first time-and cheated the law for the first time to get this alcohol-, and then we went to another bar. It was exhilarating, but we both knew that we couldn't afford to get drunk before our bodies were fully ready for it, and we didn't want to smudge our clean records for the New Yorker job department. We laid back in bed, not bothering to change out of our clothes, and Carson pressed a kiss to my forehead before we drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I heard Carson making breakfast. He dropped a pan with a loud crash, and Jessica groans, "Fuuuck. Don't drop that pan again, little man. My head's killing me. Anyone got any Advil?"

"Sorry, Jessica," Carson apologizes, then says, "I tried to make omelettes but they turned into scrambled eggs."

"'S'alright," Jessica replies, standing up as I rummage through my bag for the Advil I had packed. I hand her a pill and she smiles gratefully before sitting at the table. I sit at the middle seat, and Carson at the other side. We eat in silence, and Jessica says, "I have a gig tonight at nine. I can't take you two along, so you're going to have to entertain yourselves. Maybe you can go ice skate at Rockefeller."

"Sounds great. Break a leg, Jess," I say. Usually, she hates the name Jess, and winces when Carson says it. But, weirdly enough, she lets me say it. Jessica gets up after eating, placing her dish in the sink.

"Where are you headed?" Carson asks.

"Got a date with Darren today," she says.

"Don't drink," I say. "You'll totally slur your way to the path of death. Especially since you have a show tonight."

"Yes, mom," Jessica says, a laugh bubbling from her mouth as she walks out, slamming the door behind her.

Carson turns to me, "We have like the rest of the day to kill unless Jessica's gonna come back with Darren. Which is unlikely, of course. So, what do you want to do?"

"I've always wanted to go see Times Square. And the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

"Then let's do that."

So, the rest of our day was spent in the MMOA. Then, when it was evening, we headed to walk around Times Square. After that, we went to Rockefeller Plaza. The skating, however cold, was fun for the both of us. We held hands and caught each other-Carson catching me more than I him-, and kissed in the middle of the ice. Several people awed and I smiled. Then, we went layed in bed, exchanging long, lingering, warm kisses until we fell asleep. That night was a great night for the both of us.

Little did I know that in my future, three years after we'd been in New York-after vacationing twice back to pick up more stuff and Carson's car-, that we would go back to Rockefeller together again. Darren and Jessica were still together, three years, and Carson and him both had these looks on their faces that were similar but different. I glanced at Jessica while we walked, but she just shrugged and laughed, whispering, "Let it happen, Riles." She kept a firm clasp on Darren's hand, and I on Carsons. It was weird to think that when we first got to New York, Carson and I were sixteen. Now we were nearing our twenties. Carson was going to be twenty in a few weeks, actually. I already was twenty. The group of four all walked to Rockefeller and rented skates. It was one of the last few days people could skate, as May was approaching and it was getting less and less cold by the day.

We skated for awhile, and then Darren suggested that Jessica and I skate together a little while. I was confused, but agreed because I'd missed having talks with Jessica since she moved in with Darren. When she left, Carson and I kept the loft, which was much better than the scant amount of furniture we had before. Then, I watched as Darren took Jessica's hands and skated her into the middle of the rink. He started singing. I recognized the tune immediately and smiled widely, watching the two turn as he sang. I noticed Jessica beginning to cry, but happily of course.

_(New York Playlist... NOW! -A/N)_

_It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do. Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you. Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice? Who cares, baby, I think I wanna marry you. Well, I know this little chapel on the boulevard we can go. No one will know, oh, come on girl. Who cares if we're trashed, got a pocket full of cash we can blow._

I listened and noticed he changed a lyric to fit their relationship better.

_Shots of tequila, and it's on girl. Don't say no, just say yeah. And we'll go, if you're ready like I'm ready._

I look at Carson, "Did you help him plan this? It's a little romantic for Darren's tastes."

"I knew about Jessica's soft side, and I learned some romantic stuff from you, so that's how this happened."

"I'm happy for them," I say.

"Me too," he replies, holding my hand tightly. After the song was over, a man skated over and handed Darren a little box. Jessica's hands flew to her mouth in shock.

"I know that when you came to New York that night, that you and I were supposed to meet at that old bar. It's been torn down, sadly, but the memory still remains. You and I sat there taking shot after burning shot of tequila, then we sang Summer Nights at the next bar. You and I bonded from the start, and not just physically from our drunken make-out session that night." He paused as people laughed. "You're all the world to me, and I would do anything and everything for you, Jessica. You're my sun, moon, and stars. And," he pauses to kneel. "Will you marry me?"

Jessica nods quickly, "Yes, yes, yes. I will. I do."

He slides the ring on her finger and they envelop into a kiss. Everyone claps and cheers, and a few people yell congratulations in their direction. With that done, Carson and I decided to drop Jessica and Darren off at their apartment and pick up the Corvair.

"I bought us tickets to see Wicked," Carson says, in such an off-hand manner I thought he was lying.

"What?" I ask.

"You know, Wicked. At the Gershwin Theater?"

"Oh my god!" I scream. "I love you so much!"

"I know," he says as we sit in the car. Jessica waves goodbye to us and then pulls Darren into the apartment after her. "I'm sensing they're going to have celebratory sex, don't you?"

"I can understand that inkling," I reply. The wind blows through my hair again, and I'm reminded of our nights on the freeway, when we'd drive endlessly, the wind rushing by us, faster than we could ever hope to be. As the buildings flew by, I felt an excitement creeping up my back. I wondered how Carson got tickets, considering they commonly sold out within the first hour of sale. When we got there, we took our seats-which were GREAT seats-, and waited for the show to start. I found myself trying not to sing along to the songs I knew, and Carson squeezed my hand every time. He would smile, his eyes catching the spotlight for a second, giving them a sparkle, and I would smile too. The show dwindled to an end, and I clapped, standing to start the standing ovation. Everyone else followed, whistling and cheering.

One of the actresses shushes the crowd, "We have a… um…. an interesting request to fulfill this evening. Someone here has brought someone special, and we'd like to bring them up. If you would."

Carson takes my hand and stands. I look at him, "Are you sure?"

He nods knowingly, pulling me up to the stage doors, obviously having done this before. We get up on the stage, and some of the actors gather around Carson, and he whispers with them for a minute. I stand next to the actress as she talks, "This man has been in New York with this lovely lady for three years. They've known each other for four. Anyone can see that they're in love. They're hopelessly in love with each other." I heard a speaker flick on, and then music poured quietly from the speakers.

I recognized the song. It was our song,

"This song is their song. Some of the man's fondest memories are the mix CDs that he takes with him wherever he goes that were made by her for him. But now, I think he'd like to say a few words."

The actress hands Carson the microphone. "Thank you, Roxanne. Can everyone give a hand for Roxanne Abbott? She's amazing, I'll tell you." He pauses for the applause, then turns to me. The stage suddenly grows eerily empty, the only sounds are the audiences' breath and the music pouring from the speakers. "Riley… you and I… God, it seems like yesterday you walked into the journalism classroom. You were so curious and scared and shy. You were burdened by demons from your past. But now… look at you! You're so strong. You're brave. You have courage, character, charisma, and creativity beyond anyone I've ever met before. You're just… you're so beautiful and wonderful. I couldn't imagine a day without you here with me. I couldn't imagine my future or my forever without you either." Out of nowhere, my stomach swoops as he gets on one knee before me as well. "I want to spend my future and forever with you… more than anything in this world. Will you let me spend my forever with you? Will you marry me?"

I began to cry and nod. I nod again to reestablish my answer, and he places the ring gingerly on my finger before wiping my tears from my cheeks. Then, he presses a long kiss to my lips as everyone claps behind us.


	14. Chapter 13

That was a year ago. We haven't had time to have a formal wedding yet, but being engaged is enough for now. My ring that he got me was a beautiful silver ring with diamonds on either side of a chalcedony stone, cut in a circular shape. Chalcedony didn't sparkle, no, it was a foggy color, but the diamonds took care of that. On the inside of the band was an inscription. The inscription read, 'Give me a thousand kisses…'. Carson bought a band after I said yes, and his read, '...and a thousand more.' It made us have a bit of a dent in our budgets, but we both agreed that it was worth it. After we got back on our feet working small jobs in coffee shops nearby our loft, we went to the building we'd been dreaming about since we got here: The New Yorker.

We walked together, hand in hand, and I felt him touch my ring with his thumb carefully, a smile on his face. I turned to him, "Whatever happens, I wish the best for you, honey."

"You too," he replies, a kiss on my cheek. We headed to the front desk, and were directed a variety of places. Time passed, hours and hours, and we both walked out with a stack of papers in our hands. We'd gotten into the consideration period, but we needed to fill out the papers they gave us and submit two or more articles through email to the email designated on the top of the packet.

We spent the next three days filling in the paperwork together. Three bottles of white out and fourteen pens later, we were done. Then, we rummaged through Carson's laptop for old articles to submit. We both decided to submit two old ones from the Chronicle, and one new one that we would each write within the next day. Carson brings something up I had already thought about before, "You know the New Yorker is pretty much journalism, right?"

"I researched."

"Oh really?"

"They also take short stories and satirical fiction."

"That's great!" he says happily. Later that day, we submitted our articles, then headed back to the building to submit our papers. We were redirected, then separated to different representatives, his for journalism and mine for short stories and satirical fiction. I handed him the stack of paper and he flips through it with such expertise that I knew he had done it many times before. He checks that every space was filled in, and, in a matter of moments, he was done. The man introduces himself.

"I'm Marvin Dixon. And you are?"

"Riley."

"Riley what?"

"Er, Riley Tishma-Phillips."

"Double name?"

"I got engaged a year ago."

"Congratulations, might I see the ring?"

I slide it off my finger carefully and hand it to him. Marvin inspects it, "This chalcedony?" I nod. "A lovely ring. Your fiance is lucky."

"Thank you."

"And a lovely inscription. I'm assuming it's continued on his?"

"Yes. It finishes with '...and a thousand more,' sir."

"That's sweet," Marvin says, handing me back my ring. I slide it back on my finger. "Where did you hear of the New Yorker?"

"I saw it on the shelves at my school, actually, but it was my fiance who convinced me to start reading it."

"Why do you want to be here?"

"Writing is my passion. I used to write during every free period of my school day, sometimes even during classes, and I just… I love to do it. I love to imagine fictional worlds and put together words into ways that convey and evoke emotions that people love to feel and read about. I love to make people feel emotions in a safe way. For instance, in the case of Edgar Allan Poe. He scared people to the core with his stories, but, at the same time, people knew that they were fiction. There wasn't going to be a raven flying into their room to to tell them 'nevermore,' nor was there going to be an evil black cat with an eye missing!" I laugh a little, and notice the corners of Mister Dixon's mouth curl up. "Writing provided me with a safe escape from my emotions when I was younger and facing problems of my past. It allowed me to get them out without doing something dangerous to myself or others. It just… it's my favorite thing to do, sir."

Marvin nods, pondering for a moment. "What do you like to write?"

"I'm, if I may say, a very well rounded individual. I can write anything from fiction to descriptive essays to research documents, and everything inbetween."

"Why didn't you go into journalism with your fiance?" Marvin asks.

"I did say I can write everything, but I don't enjoy writing everything. Journalism is one of the few things I have trouble writing. I just can't get the hang of it."

"I see," he says. I was scared by the tone of his voice. I noticed Marvin wave to someone behind me and offer a thumbs up, before I heard the other person's footsteps trail down the hall. "Well, Ms. Tishma-Phillips, I think you'll be valued member here at the New Yorker."

"You think so?"

"I do. Your first day is in two weeks time at nine-forty a.m. Don't be late."

"Thank you so much, sir!" I say gratefully, shaking his hand.

"Keep writing, kid!" he calls after me as I rush down the hallway. I stand in the foyer of the building, waiting for Carson. He comes out ten minutes later, and I look at him expectantly.

"I'm in. My first day is…" but I finish it for him.

"Two weeks time at nine-forty a.m, don't be late?"

"How'd you know?"

"I'm in too, silly."

He cheers and wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my lips warmly. I hum into the kiss. We kissed, probably for longer than the front receptionist wanted to see, but we didn't care. After we were done with that moment of tenderness, we decided to go out on the town. Carson insisted that we walk around Times Square, even though we'd done it a million times before. We looked at all the buildings and at all the things that we knew so familiarly. Then, when we got tired, we headed back to the same loft we'd had since we got here. I noticed the answering machine had a letter under it, and I looked at it, recognizing the writing instantly. It was two different people, two different letters, but a package deal.

**_Carson and Riley,_**

**_Thanks for coming to the Big Apple (that is, New York City,) with me._**

**_I'm so grateful you guys wanted to come with me._**

**_Darren and I are doing a collaboration album, and we gave you the preorder code that we only give to friends and family. Just for you guys._**

**_Order it as soon as you can. You get it free. Our treat. We miss you._**

**_We should go to the bar again soon. :)_**

**_Yours,_**

**_Jess Lanham_**

**_Carson and Riley,_**

**_I'd like to give you both a huge fucking hug for introducing me to Jessica._**

**_She's the kindest person I've ever met, and I'm so grateful she's my fiancee._**

**_We're probably going to have a wedding within the next few months after our album drops. I'm sure you two will get the first invite, so RSVP quickly!_**

**_Miss you two kiddos._**

**_Have fun for the New Yorker, Jessie and I will be watching for your articles!_**

**_Stay safe, and don't forget the condoms._**

**_Darren_**

Carson and I laugh at both of their letters, then smile. We hurry to his laptop to preorder the album. It was called Staining the Glass. It was different for both Jessica and Darren. We looked at the album cover. It was a picture of some stained glass colored in the shape of a big pink heart, with Jessica and Darren sitting in front of it, facing opposite ways. I was happy for the two of them and that they were so happy and in love. Darren was such a gentleman, but also such a badass, which appealed to both sides of Jessica's personality.


	15. Chapter 14

After working at the New Yorker for two years, we got married over the summer. We flew to Europe and honeymooned the same place. Those who could take off work came and saw us, and those who didn't congratulated us anyway. I had a long dress with feathers and beading and Carson said that I looked gorgeous like always. Carson wore a blue bowtie, and all of the bridesmaids wore blue dresses. Jessica, who was my maid of honor, wore a lighter shade than everyone else, and Darren, the best man, wore a tie of the same color, but a skinny tie rather than a bowtie. We got married in front of a beautiful cathedral, and we were happy to be married. So much so, that we had celebratory sex. That was the third time we'd had sex, and it wasn't the last. It was only a matter of time until I got accidentally pregnant, but I wouldn't care.

After being the most interesting couple for two years, Carson and I started an album of collecting different articles that people had written about us. These were both good and bad articles, about one or both of us, and we loved all of them regardless. It was weird to have people talking about us, even if it was just something like an interview. It felt weird to be seen in both good and bad light, and it was something I wasn't used to. Nonetheless, all of the articles were interesting to read.

**People Magazine November 23, 2015**

When these two small-town teenagers stepped into New York City, they expected nothing more than the experience. But, now, here they are, working for one of the most prestigious literary gazettes in the world, the New Yorker. They're the most well-known power couple in the history of the New Yorker, if not journalism itself, and they're most commonly found in blue. Their names? Carson and Riley Phillips.

The two started as high school students in the small town of Clover, California. Carson has often said that he and his fiancée are the 'diamonds in a pile of cow shit.' It's obvious that this is true, considering neither one of them has heard of any famous people coming from a small town like Clover, and especially Clover. Journalism and short stories isn't fun and games for these two. They write a new article every two weeks, submitting it for the chance for it to be put into the magazine. They get paid forty dollars for each submission and a larger sum if it's put into the New Yorker. This seems like a small wage, but that's eighty dollars plus a month, which is fine living for these new-found journalists. After all, they're nothing but new to the New Yorker, climbing their way to the top of the ladder slowly but surely, and, of course, hand in hand.

I interviewed the lady herself about marriage arrangements and her previous times with her fiancé.

Q: Do you have any plans to get married soon?

A: The rings Carson bought took a huge portion of our money down, and we had to redecorate our loft from the three person living arrangements to two, so we only can dream about a wedding right now. Being engaged is enough for the both of us at the moment.

Q: You mentioned that you had to redecorate your loft from three person living to two. Does this mean you had a roommate?

A: Yes! We had a roommate in semi-popular singer Jessica Lanham. She's currently got an album out called Staining the Glass with her fiancé Darren. I'm really happy for them, and their music's brilliant. I often listen to it when I write.

Q: How did you meet Jessica?

A: On the night of our junior year dance, Carson took me to a coffee shop down the street from our high school. There she was, singing her setlist for us. She was really fond of us when we met her, and she gave us a free signed copy of her EP [, The Blushed Skies EP]. We knew that she would be one of our best friends.

Q: What about Carson? How did you two meet?

A: (She laughs.) That's one of my fondest memories, that day. One day at the beginning of junior year, I saw a flyer for a club called Writers Club. It sounded exciting, and I loved to write, so I wanted to join. After school that day, I went into the room, and he was sitting there. He was nervous and shy around me, which was adorable, and we hit it off from there. I recall now that we had this sort of electrical spark when we shook hands, and it still happens when we kiss and when we touch. I guess it's what romance novelists call the fireworks effect.

Q: How do your parents feel about all of this? That is, you get married, Carson, and New York.

A: They're in love with all of it. They're proud of me for branching out of Clover and doing something I want to do with my life. They're also excited to get the New Yorker when they can and read mine and Carson's articles. As for Carson, they loved him from the start. They knew he'd take care of me and help me recover from my past. They keep asking me for tickets to New York so they can come see us, and asking me when the wedding is. It's quite funny, actually.

Q: You said that Carson helped you recover from your past. Would you mind talking about that?

A: I want to be somewhat of an inspiration for people, especially those living in small towns like that. I had a lot of bad things come my way. I had almost every mental illness under the sun; depression, anorexia, bulimia, self-harm. I did all of that. I knew how hard it was. My parents put me on antidepressants, and, sure, they worked, but not as much as they wanted. I went through a dramatic mood swing when I met Carson, though. A few months after we'd been best friends, he drove me out to Pacifica, and he kissed me for the first time. I felt like I finally was loved enough to start recovering. I felt like I mattered. Then, on the way back, we stopped on the side of the freeway and we sat and talked about my past. He listened so intently, he held my hands so tightly, and I knew from that moment on we were inseparable. I'd like to think that we weren't the couple who would fight, but we fought once or twice in our teenage years. The worst one was when we drove out on that same freeway and a police officer pulled him over. He said that he almost got a ticket and he yelled at me. I got out of the car and told him to drive away without me before I felt bad about making that decision. The police officer took me home and he told me something really inspiring. 'Even the best relationships have fights. My wife and I fought over whether the pot roast was done, but in the morning, she still gave me my coffee and my lunch. We still love each other.' It reassured me enough to feel like I didn't have to worry about our relationship or the fact that we had just fought.

It's clear these two are infatuated with each other. I talked with Carson about his marriage proposal, his feelings about it, and his feelings about his fiancée.

Q: How did you propose to your fiancée?

A: After our friends Jessica and Darren got engaged at Rockefeller Plaza, we went to a showing of Wicked at the Gershwin Theater. At the end of the show, we were asked to come up on stage, me knowingly and her unknowingly, and one of the actresses, Roxanne [Abbott], introduced the situation at hand. Everyone was hushed and I said my speech to her. Then, she said yes, and we kissed. That was that.

Q: Do you remember your speech?

A: Oh god, that was years ago. Let me think. (After a moment's pause, he remembers it and recites it to me.) 'Riley… you and I… God, it seems like yesterday you walked into the journalism classroom. You were so curious and scared and shy. You were burdened by demons from your past. But now… look at you! You're so strong. You're brave. You have courage, character, charisma, and creativity beyond anyone I've ever met before. You're just… you're so beautiful and wonderful. I couldn't imagine a day without you here with me. I couldn't imagine my future or my forever without you either. I want to spend my future and forever with you… more than anything in this world. Will you let me spend my forever with you? Will you marry me?'

Q: How did you feel during the proposal?

A: Nervous! Of course, everyone's nervous. But, I knew, deep down, that she'd say yes. We were so dead in love that it would've been a hit out of left field if she didn't say yes.

Q: What about when you were planning the proposal?

A: Still nervous, probably more so. It was a lot scarier thinking about it than doing it. It was also a little awkward because Darren [, my old roommate's fiancé,] and I were planning together, and we had to pretend that the other was our at-the-time girlfriend. I was originally going to just ask her to marry me without a speech, but, when Darren suggested doing it at the Gershwin, I knew I had to say something more than the dorky 'Will you marry me?', otherwise I'd look awfully uncultured. (He laughs.)

So, when it came around, I felt a lot better doing it than thinking about it.

Q: How do you feel about your fiancée?

A: Do I really need to say it? (After I nodded, he laughs again.) I think she's really just amazing. She completes me in more ways than I knew needed to be completed. She's beautiful and gorgeous and just sexy! I love everything about her and I love what she hates the most. She's so kind and loving to me and every person she meets, and it shocks me that people were so cruel to her when she was younger. I just… I'm seriously in love with her.

Q: Do you two have a significant song?

A: We actually have a few. Our three most significant are Arms by Christina Perri, Give Your Heart A Break by Demi Lovato, and Reasons to Love You by Meiko. Of course, the Meiko song is the one we always say is our song.

Q: Do you know any of the lyrics of the song?

A: She can always sing this better than I do, so I'm just going to say it. 'Give me a reason to fall in love, take my hand and let's dance. Give me a reason to make me smile, 'cause I think I've forgotten how. I want to fall asleep with you tonight, I want to know that I am safe when you hold me tight. I want to feel how I want to feel forever. I want you, oh I want you.' There's a lot more to the song than I remember, but that's just what I recall.

**Us Magazine January 13, 2016**

COVER STORY: Pretty in Blue

The influential power-couple, The Phillips', were in Los Angeles for a vacation trip to see their long time roommate and best friend singer Jessica Lanham and her husband Darren Criss. Although neither member of the couple had time for an interview, the lady had enough time to mention that she appreciates all of the support everyone's giving to her friend. If you would like to listen to Jessica Lanham's music, check out The Blushed Skies EP and Staining the Glass.

**TIME Magazine February 14, 2016**

New Age of Camelot?

Everyone remembers the sweethearts of Camelot, Jacqueline and John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Journalism critics and power couple of New York-and the New Yorker-, the Phillips', are becoming the new era of Jackie and JFK. With their influential words, increasing popularity, and similar likeness, it was only a matter of time until they were bound for the glory that was bestowed on the couple so many years ago. Let's just hope that neither one of them is assassinated.

**VOGUE Magazine June 2016**

Lovely lady, Riley Phillips, has proven that you can own something for every day in one color. As shown in the photobook, she manages to have about forty different blue dresses, shirts, shoes, and accessories. However, one of her favorite accessories is her engagement ring, a chalcedony gemstone surrounded by two diamonds on a silver band, which she never takes off. The ring, estimated to cost over 3,000 dollars, may seem to be a shallow, low price, but it was certainly a blow to their budget when it was bought. She tells PEOPLE Magazine in 2015 that the ring took a bit out of her and her fiance's budgets, but they knew it was a worthy investment.

Want to get a look like hers? Try this!

_- Emily and Fin Curtsey Call dress - $113 from _

_- Yumi Diamond cardigan - $74 from .uk_

_- Pretty Polly Semi-Sheer Polka Dot Tights - $48 from _

_- LE SILLA Royal Blue Suede Overlasted Platform Pumps - $315 from_

_- SWAROVSKI Slake Crystal Wrap Bracelet - $70 from _

_- Black Stitch Heart Necklace Broken Eternal Love Gift Pendant - $12 from _

**National Inquirer July 2016**

Is the couple expecting or just fat? You told us!

Kim and Kanye - 87% said expecting

Jay-Z and Beyonce - 23% said just fat

Selena and Justin - 55% said expecting

Riley and Carson - 44% said expecting

The National Enquirer article was by far the favorite between us, just because it was so stupid. I ended up laughing so hard I spat out my coffee when he brought it home, pointing to a picture of us at a gala for some award I didn't remember the name of.

When Carson comes home one day, I set his dinner in front of him, having gotten home before him and having time to make dinner. "What have you been up to?" he asks.

"Making dinner for you every night while juggling a really important project for Marvin."

"What's the project about?"

"It's about the interest in novels and short stories compared to journalism and nonfiction," I say.

"Why do you sound mad at me?" he asks.

To my own surprise, I drop the plate I was putting away. It shatters loudly against the floor, the shards hitting against my bare shins. I looked down to see little trails of blood starting down my legs. "You never spend time with me anymore."

"You know I have work."

I find myself yelling, "So do I, Carson! I have work! I take care of the house too! I make dinner! I start coffee in the morning! I make you breakfast! I pack your lunch! Sometimes, I even lie to your boss so he'll give you a longer deadline! I do far too much!"

"You've never expressed any upset about this before," he says. His voice was far too calm for the situation. He was having an argument with his wife, and he was sounding like he was doing something as simple as just chatting about the weather with a co-worker.

"I don't argue because I'm scared you'll leave me!" I yell. "Sometimes I feel like you're looking for an excuse to go!" My voice gets progressively higher as I keep yelling, "You can't expect me to be okay with the fact that I haven't had a conversation past 'How was work?' in almost three weeks! You can't expect me to be able to swallow all of my feelings and my stress! You know as well as I do that you're the only person I feel safe venting to! And when you stop listening, I stop talking and I start feeling scared and stressed and more nervous. I'm scared to go to work because of all of my stresses! I'm scared I'll get another assignment or another project that I don't have time for!"

He stands, starting to put a hand on my shoulder, until I screech and slap it away. He stands there then, holding his own hand as he tries to calm me down, "Whoa there, Riley. You're okay. You're fine. You should have told me-"

"TOLD YOU?!" I scream. "I CALLED YOU TWICE FROM THE OTHER ROOM CRYING THAT I NEEDED YOU AND YOU SAID, 'FIVE MORE MINUTES I NEED TO FINISH THIS ARTICLE.'"

"It was a busy week."

"BUSY WEEK, MY ASS. YOU DIDN'T GIVE A SHIT, DID YOU?!"

I find myself collapsing into the chair next to me, and Carson starts towards me, stopping in front of where I sat. "Listen to me. I want to spend every day with you. I want to spend every single day I have with you. But because of my work and yours, we can't spend that time with each other."

I heard the song play in the background.

_The world is asleep tonight, and my darling is safe at home. His bones will rest tonight, in a strange place up alone. All my enemies are just demons in my head. And everyone I meet, will pass right through me in the end. Can I walk the light, that leads me straight back to your heart? Will you wait for me, or will our feelings disappear? Well you are so good for me, I'll rub my eyes, I can see. La la la la la la._

Carson nods his head to the speakers, "See, even the song wants us not to fight."

I ignore him.

"Can I walk the light that leads me straight back to your heart? Will you wait for me or will our feelings disappear?" he quotes from the song.

"Well…" I start, "You are so good for me."

We both said together, "I'll rub my eyes, I can see."

Carson turned up the music, and we danced together to all the songs that came along, singing along to our favorites.

_Oh memories, where'd you go? You were all I've ever known. How I miss yesterday, and how I let fade away. Where'd you go? Oh, oh oh oh. When July became December, their affection fought the cold, but they couldn't quite remember what inspired them to go._

The next song was a sad one, and I knew Carson would skip it.

_I got enough on my mind, that when she pulls me by the hair, she hasn't much to hold onto. She's keeping count on her hand, one-two-three days that I've been sleeping on my side._

Next was one on our Us CD.

_What would they? What would they do? Would it be trouble if they knew? I'm trying hard to make you see all that you are is all that I need. I know that it's a secret, and that I gotta keep. But I want the lights on, yeah, I want the lights on. And I don't want to run away anymore. Leave the lights on, leave the lights on._

Then, one I wanted to sing to him.

_Could this be love at first sight, or should I walk by again? You're photogenically dressed, the conversation begins. Oh god, oh what did I say? Let me start over again. Could this be love at first sight? Oh wait, I said that before. I need a place for the night, happy to sleep on the floor. But don't go out of your way, and I won't talk anymore. Turn the lights off, I'm in love. Wouldn't you like to, wouldn't you like to kiss her? Wouldn't you like to, wouldn't you like to dance with her? Darkened nights, and violent things, vaudevillian girls and violin strains. All of these are the prettiest things when I'm in love. Turn the lights off, I'm falling in love with you. Wouldn't you like to, wouldn't you like to kiss her? Wouldn't you like to, wouldn't you like to dance with her? Dark, dark nights and violent things, vaudevillian girls and violin strings. All of these are the prettiest things when I'm… in love._

He kissed me on the in-between the song, and said, "Yes, I would like to kiss her and dance with her." The last song we listened to before we fell asleep together on the couch was one he sang to me. His voice wasn't very good, but it was good enough to touch my heart.

_Me and you are meant to be, like stars in the sky and leaves on the trees. When times are tough, I want you to think, of you in my arms, me kissing your cheek. They say all good things have an end, so will it be heartbreak or death? Maybe we can last beyond all time. My hand in yours… and your hand in mine._

Carson also comes home another day, two days after our fight, saying that he and I were nominated to make a speech at a high school to convince them that writing isn't dead. I asked why. He said because we're the influential power couple and because we were both in our late twenties with a sought after position at a prestigious gazette. Carson arranged a long speech, and it was a beautiful one:

**_People often think that it's easy to write. You can just slap something down, call it writing, and be done. I could call this speech writing, because, technically, I did write it. But, there's a difference between writing and writing, yes? Writing is something you do to tap into your emotions and your inner thoughts. You write to evoke something, to tell something, to prove something. You don't just write something aimlessly without a purpose or goal, and you don't write something unless you're trying to say something. In this speech, I'm trying to tell you all to write! That's my message, and that's why I'm on this soapbox here._**

**_But, some people have a hard time writing. That's okay. I even have a hard time sometimes. I know my fiancee can't write journalism to save her soul, but that's okay. Everyone can try. Some people are born with it. Some people know how to write and how to put together syllables and words to make someone FEEL something or CHANGE THEIR MIND! Not everyone can do that. I don't expect any of you all to be perfect, amazing writers right now. A lot of you guys are just learning the concepts of MLA format and how to write a proper research paper. I don't expect any one of you to be magically able to produce a 50,000 word novel in a month. I don't think any of you COULD do that._**

**_But you will. If writing is something you love to do, then, by all means do it! I remember my fiancee telling me when she was fourteen, she wrote an entire novel in half a month. It was hard for her, yes, but she did it. She took quite the long time, but yes, she did. I read it, and it was amazing. Fourteen year old her had wonderful grammar and vocabulary. I was impressed. But, even more so, I was impressed that she kept that novel. She told me as well that she said she'd never let anyone read it and she would delete it when the month passed. But she didnt. She kept it, and, later, showed it to me. I know you guys don't want to write papers or do exams or essays, but it's gonna help you. You're gonna go far if you write._**

The teachers started the applause, then the kids clapped too. When it was my turn, I realized I had forgotten my speech at home. I had no choice but to adlib it. Carson pressed a kiss to my cheek as I walked by him, and I stood at the podium.

"Hey guys. I realized as soon as I got here that I left my wonderful three page speech at home. I suppose thats a relief for you after his speech." I got a couple laughs. "So I'm just going to ad-lib this here."

**_Nowadays people feel the need to copy, repeat, and regurgitate previous prose, leaving little to no thoughts to something of their own. And to some, if not all, that's all fine and well._**

**_But it isn't to me._**

**_I refuse to let people simply throw around a thesaurus for synonyms for love by saying infatuation or devotion or fondness._**

**_I have a devotion to the original belief of prose._**

**_I have a fondness to those who close their eyes and imagine how the words feel._**

**_I have an infatuation to those who know that bosorexia is an extreme desire to kiss and that tachyphagia is to eat something quickly._**

**_I am someone who admires those who admire prose._**

**_And I, for one, refuse to let original prose die._**

**_Do you?_**

I watched two teachers stand and clap, and I felt so nervous. Suddenly, everyone was clapping, standing on their feet, and I felt like I actually changed them. I brushed my hand over the smooth fabric of my blue dress-one of my favorites, the one I had worn to the Vanity Fair gala-, and Carson places a hand into the small of my back.

"You just inspired about two thousand kids with less than two hundred and fifty words. How does that make you feel?"

"Amazing," I say. "I want to do this more." I knew I did. Inspiring people is what I want to do with my writing and with my words.


	16. Chapter 15

We flew back to New York, and we had some time to ourselves. Carson took me to see the Statue of Liberty, where we went to the island and looked around curiously, admiring the landmarks and the people. We first went up to the Crown, looking out at the city from a twenty two story level, and looking at the limited view of the borough of Brooklyn. Then, after walking down one hundred and fifty four obnoxiously narrow stairs, we went to the pedestal. I read the plaque aloud to the group, "'The Statue of Liberty's stone pedestal was designed by famed architect Richard Morris Hunt. The pedestal was designed to compliment the Statue of Liberty rather than overwhelm it. The pedestal is roughly half of the size of the entire monument.'"

Then we went to the Liberty Island Museum. There, we learned information about a variety of things relating to the Statue, including the structure itself, the people who built it, the interpretation of the Statue and how it changed over time, and Ellis Island. We next went to the Liberty Island Flagpole for the guided tour. We learned there about why and how the statue was made, important figures in the Statue's construction, the Island's history, the Statue's many symbols, and the 1980's Restoration Project. The last thing we saw was the Ellis Island Immigration Museum. We learned about the history of it, what happened there, how people lived there, and the significance of it then and now.

"Maybe my next short story could be about a couple who falls in love in New York City."

"I'd read it," Carson says with a poke to my ribs. I smiled and flushed. It was a cold day in New York, the high only forty two degrees, so we huddled close for warmth. It had been ages since we'd just spent time together without talking about work every five minutes.

When we got home, we decided to lay in bed together. Things got heated, and we kissed passionately, our lips biting and aching for each others'. Even though this wasn't the first time I'd made out with him, it still felt so new and so oh wow that my mind scrambled whenever we did. As like always, his smell filled my lungs and woke me up. I loved that scent more than anything. I felt his lips tender against mine, a warm pressure, and I reciprocated every movement he gave in time.

Carson brushed his lips teasingly against my own, and I whined, "Don't tease me like that."

The ghost of a smirk falls on his lips for a moment as he bats his eyelashes at me innocently. I lean up and capture his lips into another kiss, dragging my teeth against his bottom lip as he pulls away. His eyes flutter shut as the pressure of my teeth hits him, then he comes back in a third time. His breath was warm against my face before he caught my lips, and I felt his mouth open widely. I mimicked this motion, and felt his tongue begin to explore my mouth. I pushed my own into his mouth and they caught together, our eyes squeezed shut and bodies pressed close, feeling our hearts beating in time. I felt his hands slide from the back of my head down my back to my hips. My fingers locked into the small of his back, and pulled his hips close to my own. He panted out a breath, and, as his lips left my own, I gasped out a breath before capturing his lips another time.

I would explain further what happened, but I'll leave it plain and simple: We had sex.

The next evening, he took me out to Times Square.

We decided to play a game. Using all of the pictures of the musicals plastered around the place, we tried to see who could name a song from more of them. One of us would point a poster out, and the other would have to name a song.

"Wicked," Carson says.

"Defying Gravity. Phantom of the Opera."

"Music of the Night, right?" I nod. "Jersey Boys."

"Shit, I don't know this one."

"What is Ragdoll?" He says cheekily.

"South Pacific!" I say.

"Fuck! You know I don't know this one!"

"What is As If We Never Said Goodbye!"

"Shrek the Musical!" Carson yells at the top of his lungs, sure he'd had me.

"Story of My Life!"

"Fuck!"

Then, instead of using the posters, we sat down, and Carson used a list he pulled up from his phone to see who could do more.

"110 in the Shade," Carson starts.

"Uh," I think for a moment. "Poker Polka? I think?"

"Yep."

"How about 13?"

"13 a.k.a. Becoming a Man!" Carson screeches, excitedly.

"I'm almost embarrassed you know that."

"42nd Street!" Carson quips.

"Forty-Second Street," I say.

"Another song. No title-bases!"

"Dames," I say.

We ran off over two hundred musicals, each of us racking up points and missing some, but overall I won. I knew Carson was faking his grudge, but, nonetheless, I took him to a little dessert shop on the corner of the street to sweeten him up. He smiled again only after I fed him a bite or two of the slice of cake I bought for us.

"Do you ever think that people will stop interviewing us?" he asks.

"Unlikely," I say, swiping my thumb under his lip to get some frosting off.

"Damn," he says. "I'm getting tired of saying the same thing."

"I know, love," I say. We sit patiently, watching people pass by. I found myself describing them each in my head.

_The tall, slender boy with blond hair and dark eyes waits patiently for the bus in his navy jacket. The snow trails onto him, making it cold and wet, but not uncomfortable for him. He waits and waits. Will the bus ever come? Or is it going to stay in the garage because of the snow? The boy doesn't know, and waits patiently, turning his bus card in his hand over and over, one-two-three, one-two-three. Finally, the glare of the headlights reach his eyes and he brushes himself off readily to climb aboard. The bus creaks to a stop, and the doors clatter open. The boy slides his card through the reader and climbs aboard, waving a greeting to the driver._

_The woman, whose hair color is hard to tell, waits on the bench for someone or something. A moment later, a man in a thick leather jacket, either brown or black, brings her a cup of coffee. She blows off the cup through the hole for sipping, and takes a drink gingerly. The man smiles at her and sits, rubbing his gloved hands against her own hands, also gloved. The woman, wearing a white jacket, is careful not to spill her coffee on it, but alas, the cup slips from her hand and the lid pops off as it catches on one of the buttons on her jacket. The brown murky liquid splashes over her jacket, and she's left with a large stain. The man takes her hands and smiles, pressing a kiss to her face, and pulls her to a car where they then drove away, assumingly home to mend her jacket._

_The brown haired girl sits comfortably in her chair in the coffee shop, across from her lover. She is wearing a navy blue peacoat jacket, and the boy is wearing a high collared blue double breasted jacket with large buttons on the front. The two are talking animatedly over a slice of cake, occasionally pausing equally to just look at their love for a moment. To admire their love between each other._


End file.
